


You Don't Have To

by brittishmenorbust



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Rugby, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fluff, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Teenlock, ballet!lock, rugby!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittishmenorbust/pseuds/brittishmenorbust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finally notices Sherlock's dancing after weeks of just passing by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     John had walked by that same wooden door every day for the entire year and not noticed. How had he not noticed? John stood at the small window in that door that separated him from the elegant being that twirled and danced behind it. Had he not dropped his rugby bag, he never would have stopped at the dance studio. He recognized the kid from around school, it was Sherlock Holmes. He was always alone, never bothered anyone and kept to himself. John had noticed him immediately because of his outfit. Sherlock wore his ballet tights and shoes around school. He didn't seem to care what anyone thought. John hadn't really given it a second thought until today. He had never witnessed something so beautiful. The light from the windows fell lightly on Sherlock's pale skin as he seemingly floated through the air. John shook his head and tried to concentrate. He was supposed to be leaving practice to go to a movie with a girl. He shouldn't be staring at a boy in tights. And yet, John couldn't take his eyes off of Sherlock. They followed his every graceful move. His tight thighs and thin waist had John's jaw clenching tightly and heart beating fast. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until he gasped. Sherlock was coming towards the door - towards him.

     John backed away quickly from the door and leaned against the other side of the hall, hands clasped nervously in front of him. Sherlock opened the door with his ballet bag on his shoulder. His dark curls were matted to his head with sweat and his pale complexion was tinted pink on his cheeks. John, confident, manly John, had no idea what to do. He had never experienced this kind of flustered feeling before. His brain worked overtime just to come up with the word, "Hey."

     Sherlock's head snapped up as if expelled from a trance. He narrowed his eyes and John thought he detected sadness, although he had no idea why. When he finally spoke, John's heart nearly leapt from his chest. Sherlock's voice was deeper than he had anticipated. And so, so lovely.

     "Listen, I don't have time for this today so why don't you go terrorize someone else for a change, okay?" he spat the words at John.

     John had no idea what was happening. Why was he accusing John of terrorizing him? He was just standing there. The hurt and anger in Sherlock's eyes broke John's heart. He didn't understand why, but he wanted to fix Sherlock. He wanted to take away that pain, no matter what the cause.

     "What are you talking about?" John asked.

     "You know," Sherlock retorted. "All you rugby players are the same. You come and call me names, beat me up, and leave me bleeding on the pavement. Well I've had enough and I don't have time for it today. So leave. Now."

     John could see the tears starting to form as Sherlock turned to leave. John stood with his mouth agape. He had no idea his teammates were like that. He didn't understand how they could cause pain to anything so beautiful. John's hand was on Sherlock's shoulder before he could think twice. He turned him around and Sherlock violently shrugged off John's hand.

     "Don't touch me!" He almost shrieked.

     "Okay, okay," John backed off. "I just wanted to say something."

     Sherlock's posture relaxed a little, realizing that John was not a threat.

     "What?"

     "I had no idea that they did that. I promise. I had no idea. Don't worry about it, I'll tell them to cut it out."

     Sherlock's eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

     "Why? What kind of game is this?"

     "It's not a game," John insisted. "I just don't want them hurting you."

     "Why?" Sherlock countered.

     John felt his cheeks go hot. _Because I think you're amazing and beautiful and I never want anything to hurt you_ , he thought.

     "I just don't think it's right," he said. "They will stop, I promise."

     "I can protect myself," Sherlock said, eyes still nearly brimming with tears.

     John sighed. He looked at this lean, gorgeous boy and admitted to himself that there was no way he was going to that movie tonight. There was someone far more important now. He hesitantly reached out and ran his hand down Sherlock's arm to his hand. He grabbed his hand and held it tight.

     "You don't have to," he smiled. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship progresses a bit

     Sherlock's hand twitched like it wasn't used to physical contact with anyone. He tried, half-heartedly, to pull away from John's hands but stopped. John's hands were warm. Dirty, and worn, but warm and Sherlock felt a small smile start to form on his lips. He quickly stopped himself. It couldn't be like this. It was too easy. Something had to be wrong. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he stared at John. He observed the rugby uniform tan lines, the creases from many happy smiles, the fingernails of a nervous habit, and the eyes of... Well Sherlock didn't know exactly what to make of John's eyes. He looked for something to give him a deduction, something to give him knowledge about John but the only word that came to mind about John's eyes was _lovely_. John noticed Sherlock was staring at him and shifted uncomfortable on his feet.

     "Is this okay?" he asked shyly.

     Sherlock considered this for a moment. Was it okay? Sherlock wasn't sure. He had never experienced anything like this before. His ballet flats suddenly felt too small and his leotard too tight. He tried to take a deep breath and think. _Yes_ , he thought, _this was okay_. He nodded because he couldn't get any words past his trembling lips. John started to lead him down the hallway to the left but Sherlock stopped immediately, a familiar fear creeping into him.

     "I can't go that way," he said mechanically. All the warmth from John's touch had left him. He knew what awaited him through those doors. John's face pulled into a look of confusion.

     "Why?" he asked.

     "Your team hangs out outside that door most days," Sherlock almost whispered. "I have to go out back around the entire school and then go through the woods to get to my street." He let go of John's hand and fidgeted with his ballet bag. For a moment he had let himself think that maybe he could be with this person. How could that be? How could he possibly get anything like that?

     "That doesn't matter anymore," John said earnestly. "They won't hurt you," he reached back for Sherlock's hand, "And neither will I."

     Sherlock assessed John's face for signs of deception. Surely this was some kind of sick joke organized by the team to hurt him. He looked for the signs but found none. John was telling the truth. Sherlock met John halfway and grabbed his open hand. Together they walked down the hallway. Sherlock stopped them right before they opened the doors.

     "Why are you doing this for me?" Sherlock asked. John's heart stuttered looking at those big blue eyes.

     "What do you mean?"

     "I mean, why, today, did you decide to do this for me? I just don't understand."

     John had never had a problem with being blunt before. If someone on his team played poorly he told them; if he needed to say how he felt, he said it. So why was it suddenly so hard? John steadied himself, clenching his left fist and avoiding Sherlock's eyes.

     "Well," he started, shakily, "Today was the first day I saw you dance." He kept his eyes locked on Sherlock's ballet flats. "I have never seen anything so beautiful. I want to know you, and I want to protect you," he finished. He brought his eyes slowly up to meet Sherlock's, expecting that guarded look of his. Instead he found only a look of  confusion mixed with a small smile.

     "You saw me dance?" It was Sherlock's turn to look at the floor.

     "Yeah," John smiled. "It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Not that I'd know anything about dancing, but it was just..." John trailed off, realizing he was rambling.

     "Thank you," Sherlock muttered quietly. His cheeks still had that pink blush to them that John loved. Sherlock glanced at the door. Behind it, John's team was most definitely waiting outside. John noticed the apprehensive look.

     "They won't hurt you anymore," John said. "You're with me now."

     "With you?" Sherlock asked.

     John's confidence faltered.

     "Is that okay?" he asked tentatively.

     Sherlock waited a moment, thinking. John could see the gears in motion behind those gorgeous curls and he waited patiently.

     "Yes," he responded.

     John let go of Sherlock's hand, and watched it gracefully fall next to his side. He shrugged off his rugby jacket and held it out. Sherlock looked at him questioningly.

     "What's this?"

     "My jacket. So they know-"

     "That I'm with you," Sherlock finished the sentence and smiled. He put down his ballet bag and grabbed the jacket. It was red and gold, their school colors. It clashed with Sherlock's green tights, but he didn't care. It smelled like sweat and Old Spice and was soft against Sherlock's skin. He wrapped it around himself. It was too big for his slender body. The jacket was accustomed to John's muscled form. But it made Sherlock feel delicate and small, in the best way possible. He leaned down to pick up his bag but John stopped him.

     "Let me," he said, shouldering it next to his rugby bag. Sherlock smiled in response and they turned to face the doors. This time it was Sherlock who reached for John's hand. He gave it a small squeeze before opening the door.

     "I'm with you," John reminded him, seeing the inherent fear Sherlock was trying to hide.

     "You're with me," Sherlock reassured himself.  

 


	3. Chapter 3

     The doors opened up to a sunny day. The two boys walked outside, hand in hand, towards the rugby team. The team, or at least part of it, was hanging out by the school wall, pushing each other and laughing. Sherlock was a little ahead of John as they came out of the doors and was quickly spotted by Chuck, one of the biggest members of the team.

     "Oi, ballet boy, could you look any gayer in those tights?" he laughed and pointed at Sherlock.

     Even with John beside him, Sherlock felt the pang of the ridicule. Finally, John came into their view and Chuck took a step back, not understanding what was happening.

     "Hello, Chuck," John said evenly. Sherlock noticed his hold on his hand had tightened, in tandem with the strain in his voice. Chuck's mouth was hanging open for a few seconds after John had finished speaking. He shook his head and resumed his confident stance.

     "What are you doing with this rainbow boy?" He asked. Sherlock assumed he thought John was playing some kind of joke. To be honest, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure that wasn't still the case. What happened next surprised even John. He dropped Sherlock's hand and walked right up to Chuck. Sherlock stood behind, nervously fidgeting with his leotard.

     "Shut the fuck up, Chuck," John started. "If you _ever_ talk like that to him or me, or anyone again, I will personally see to it that you end up in a ditch somewhere with just enough breath left in you to beg for mercy from me. Do you understand?" John was so close to Chuck's face he could see the sweat start to fall from his temple. Sherlock almost laughed. Chuck looked like he was going to piss his pants. John was at least half a foot shorter than Chuck but that didn't matter to the enraged Captain John Watson.

     "And that goes for all of you," John yelled, stepping back from Chuck to grab Sherlock's hand again. "If any of you give this guy a problem, _we_ will have a problem. And you don't want that, do you?" He challenged. 

     "NO SIR," they replied in unison. Sherlock marveled at John's ability to command these men. 

     "He is with me now. I don't care what any of you think about it so keep your fucking opinions to yourself. I will see you at practice tomorrow." John finished and turned. Sherlock followed him, letting his gaze linger on the terrified faces of his foes for a second longer before turning.

     The two boys walked together for minutes without talking. John was almost steaming, he was still so angry. Sherlock kept quiet, reveling in the memory of the faces of the people who had been his torturers. He had John to thank for that. He had John to thank for a lot already. Sherlock was lost in thought when a quiet voice broke through.

     "Sorry," John muttered. "That was more intense than I meant it to be."

     "Don't be," Sherlock smiled. "I thought it was incredible."

     "Really?" John laughed, looking at the beautiful form beside him.

     "No one's ever done anything like that for me," Sherlock shrugged. "Of course it was incredible."

     "I don't understand why," John mused. "You're... you're just something special."

     "Well, your friends seem to think I'm something special to abuse," Sherlock said.

     "They're not my friends if they're going to treat you like that," John said.

     There was a small silence that Sherlock broke with some hesitation.

     "Are you... You know..."

     "What?"

     "Gay?" Sherlock laughed. He wasn't sure, and he didn't want to be misled.

     "Oh," John responded as if he'd never thought about it. "Um, I don't know."

     "Okay," was all Sherlock could think of to say.

     "I mean, I've never really been attracted to a boy before. I like girls. But I like you too. A lot, as it turns out," he admitted. 

     "You can like both," Sherlock said. "I was just making sure this wasn't... something it wasn't."

     John stopped walking and Sherlock turned to face him.

     "Listen," John said, honestly, "I don't know what this is. I have no idea. All I know is this: I think you're the most attractive, beautiful, graceful, and charming individual that I have ever met. I don't care that you're a boy, I care that I want to know you. I care that I want to kiss you, and I care that you are safe and happy. That's what this is to me."

     Sherlock was taken aback at this declaration. At first his heart leapt with joy. But then it started: the doubt, the fear. 

     "I can't do this, John," Sherlock said, dropping his hand and standing back. His face had assumed it's placid look, pretending to feel nothing.

     "What? Why?" John was clearly hurt by this sudden turn around. Sherlock started to slip off John's jacket.

     "Because I can't depend on someone else. I've always done things alone. Always. I can rely on myself. I can't allow myself to rely on other people. It never works. I always end up hurt and I can't... I don't think I can take it again." The last words caught in his throat and were barely audible.

     John took a step towards him. He stopped Sherlock from shrugging off the jacket. He repositioned it back on his shoulders.

     "I told you," he said tenderly. "I will not hurt you."

     "I can't," Sherlock insisted. "Alone is what I have. It's what I've always had. It protects me."

     John smiled and shook his head. His hand found Sherlock's cheek and wiped a tear away.

     "No," he said. "Not any more. You can trust me."

     Sherlock couldn't stop himself. He let John's hand slide to the back of his neck.

     "I will protect you now," John whispered as his face drew nearer to Sherlock's. "Is that okay?" he added.

     "Yes," Sherlock managed to whisper before John's lips found his own. Immediately John dropped their bags and pulled Sherlock to him. They shared a kiss that made both their heads spin. Sherlock's lips were soft and warm, and John's fingers immersed themselves in his curls. After a few seconds their lips parted. The two smiled at each other for a minute before turning to continue. The blonde picked up their bags and slid his arm around the brunette's waist and started walking again.


	4. Chapter 4

     With John's hand around Sherlock's waist it was hard to concentrate. Sherlock had a lot to process seeing what had just transpired that afternoon. He and John walked in perfect synchrony. John was escorting Sherlock home, a fact which made Sherlock both giddy and nervous. He had no idea why this strong, handsome rugby player had taken an interest in him. What could they possibly have in common? John had said he liked the way Sherlock danced but how could that sustain a relationship? A relationship. Oh god, Sherlock was getting way too ahead of himself as usual. In every corner of his brain he searched for something to say to John, something to identify why this was happening. Finally he chose to ask a question.

     "John," he started carefully. John's eyes looked up at him with a calm happiness. "Can I just ask... I mean, I know you said you liked my dancing... But I just don't understand why someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me," he asked. He avoided John's eyes as he waited for the answer.

     "What do you mean someone like you, or someone like me?" John replied innocently.

     "I mean what could you possible see in a weird ballet boy with no friends and a freakish brain?" Sherlock blurted out. "You're popular John Watson, captain of the Rugby team." He couldn't help but self deprecate. He didn't feel like he deserved this beautiful man's attention.

     "First of all, you're not freakish, you're incredible," John started, pulling Sherlock closer to him. "Second of all, I'm not all you think I am."

     Sherlock processed this for a minute. He felt shivers go down his spine when John complimented him, followed by full confusion. They kept their pace steady as they talked, keeping their eyes on the road ahead of them. It was almost easier that way, to talk more bluntly. Sherlock was astounded by the easy manner they had together. It was as if they'd been friends for years.

     "What do you mean? You're the exact opposite of me. You're loved by everyone," Sherlock almost laughed.

     "Not really," John muttered. His head dipped lower and he cast his eyes towards the ground. "I'm always alone at home. My parents are too wrapped up in arguments with each other to notice me, and my sister's got an addiction problem. I don't really have anyone to talk to," John confessed. Sherlock could see that it took a lot for him to say this. John clearly did not open up to people often. Sherlock could relate.

     "What about your rugby mates?" Sherlock asked, reaching up to run his hand through the blonde's hair. John unconsciously nuzzled against his hand.

     "Oh, I couldn't talk to them. They don't understand. They think I'm just a tough captain who's got it all figured out."

     "Even the most crowded room can seem empty," Sherlock mused to himself. John murmured his agreement.

     "I think I sensed a sort of kindred spirit in you," John smiled, finally looking at Sherlock. "Someone who knows what's it's like to be alone."

     "Yes," Sherlock agreed. "I do know that," he added, pulling at his ballet tights.

     They rounded the final street corner and arrived at Sherlock's house. It was a simple cottage-type with brown window shutters and a lovely garden. John marveled at the simplistic coziness. The front door opened and a round, smiling woman emerged. Sherlock blushed and dropped John's hand before his mother could see them. However he forgot that he was still wearing John's rugby jacket.

     "Sherlock!" His mother cooed, eying the jacket on Sherlock's shoulders. "Who's this lovely young man?"

     Sherlock sighed and obliged his mother.

     "This is John Watson."

     "A friend of yours?" She asked, smiling brightly.

     "Erm, yes," Sherlock squirmed.

     John's charisma kicked into gear and he kissed Mrs. Holmes' outstretched hand.

     "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Holmes," John said. 

     "Oh, he's lovely, Sherlock," she laughed. "Are you staying for dinner, John?" 

     "Oh thank you, but I, um, can't. I need to be home before dinner," Sherlock noticed John's sudden squirming.

     "Oh surely you can call and see," she suggested. "It's not every day Sherlock brings someone round."

     "No, thank you. I really, really can't. My father would be very cross and... I just can't, but thank you." John said, his jaw clenching.

     Sherlock didn't know what to make of this. Clearly something was wrong but he didn't want to ask in front of his mother. Perhaps he could ask later. This uneasiness did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Holmes either. She eyed John with a loving concern and seemingly made a judgement. When she spoke her voice had a calm bravery in it.

     "Well perhaps another time, dear," she said. "And John, you're welcome here any time. If you need anything."

     The two of them seemed to share an understanding that went completely over Sherlock's head. Mrs. Holmes bid John goodbye and embarrassed Sherlock by kissing his head and telling him to come in for dinner in ten minutes. Once she had left, Sherlock turned to John. His face was still set in stone and Sherlock didn't feel like pressing. John would tell him in his own time, whatever it was that apparently everyone but he was aware of.

     "Shall I pick you up for school tomorrow morning?" John asked, pulling Sherlock out of his trance-like thought process.

     "I was actually planning on practicing before school tomorrow. The studio's empty so I like to dance then."

     John seemed to hesitate before asking sheepishly, "Could I watch?"

     Sherlock smiled and nodded.

     "I'll pick you up bright and early then," he said sweetly. Sherlock was still wondering what had happened before, but John seemed to have resumed his usual self.

     "Can't wait," Sherlock said. And it was the truth.

     John gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and left with a wave. Sherlock watched him for a moment, sighing. He turned to go into the house, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful blonde walking down his street. That night, Sherlock barely slept. The anticipation of seeing John in the morning had his nerves wound tightly. Similarly, John paced his empty room talking out loud to himself and practicing what he would say to Sherlock in the morning. Before long both boys had worn themselves out and slept until the sun rose and it was time to go. A nervous excitement stirred in both of them at the start of the new day.


	5. Chapter 5

     Sherlock woke up two hours before he needed to. He pulled on his tights and leotard. He delicately laced his ballet slippers, attempted to tame his mess of brown curls, and packed his bag. John wouldn't be here for a long time, and yet Sherlock was ready to go. The anticipation was killing him. All he'd thought about since John's lips left his cheek was this morning. He went downstairs and made some toast which he did not eat on account of the swirling storm of nerves in his stomach. His father had already left for work but his mother came down with a yawn in her dressing gown and turned on the coffee maker. Sherlock sat as if made of stone, silently watching the clock.

     "You're up early, love," his mother noticed through her half-open eyes.

     "Couldn't sleep," he responded.

     Mrs. Holmes eyed her son with curiosity.

     "Is it him?" She asked playfully. She had always been able to tell when something was different with Sherlock. This time was no different.

     "Who?" Sherlock evaded.

     "The blonde boy... John?"

     "No," Sherlock lied, placing his hands together in front his lips as he always did when thinking.

     "Alright then," she offered, taking the hint. She smiled to herself and finished making her coffee. She sat down across from Sherlock and eyed him over her morning paper. She couldn't help but smile at the small change that had occurred in her son already. Whatever it was, and she was pretty sure it was John, she approved.

     After hours of sitting in silence, the time had passed. Sherlock jumped up from his seat at the sound of John's knocking. He nearly fell face first over his ballet bag in his sprint to the door. He quickly put on John's rugby jacket, stood up straight, and took a deep breath. Opening the door, Sherlock smiled at the blonde boy waiting on his step. The sun made John's hair even brighter than usual and his big eyes stared up at Sherlock. He was wearing a form fitting long sleeve shirt, ripped jeans, and boots. Sherlock nearly fainted.

     "I forgot how good my jacket looks on you," John said coquettishly.

     "Yeah, don't plan on having it back any time soon," Sherlock jested. It felt good to joke with someone for once.

     John smiled and extended his hand. Sherlock glanced back at his mother who was standing in the hallway facing the doorway. She waved to John, blew Sherlock a kiss and then moved on, pretending not to notice as Sherlock grabbed John's hand and left the doorway.

     "Are you sure you want to watch me practice?" Sherlock asked self consciously.

     "Of course," John responded enthusiastically. "I wish I had gotten to see more yesterday so I'm glad you're giving me the chance today."

     Sherlock smiled at him. Soon enough they were at the school. Sherlock opened up the dance studio and John stepped inside. The space was quite large with mirrors lining the far wall. The ballet bar stood in front of it. There were chairs on the side of the room next to the speakers. Sherlock placed his bag on a chair and went to the bar. John took the seat next to it.

     "I start with stretches," Sherlock said as he stood with his back facing John. In the mirror Sherlock blushed as he saw John's head tilt while checking out his ass. With a newfound confidence, Sherlock lifted his right leg onto the bar and leaned over it, stretching. Another glance revealed John licking his lips. Sherlock continued with his stretches until he felt nice and limber. He nearly floated with joy over to the stereo, feeling a magnetic pull towards John as he passed him. Sherlock chose his favorite track.

     "This is the one I'm perfecting right now," he explained. John smiled at him and kept his eyes glued to Sherlock.

     As he danced, John became entranced. There was something so fluid and natural about Sherlock's movements. It was as if he were flames from of slow fire, or the trail of paint from a confident brushstroke. He watched as Sherlock leapt and bounded across the room, completely involved in himself. Sherlock had nearly forgotten that John was there - an impossible feat - as he was dancing. Ballet had that effect on Sherlock. It let him escape. Once the song had ended, he took a breath and walked over to John. He wiped the sweat from his brow and waited for John to say something.

     "Sherlock, I've never seen anything so amazing. You're really talented," he beamed.

     "Thank you," Sherlock blushed. 

     "Thank you for letting me watch," John responded. "Do you know, I remembered something interesting last night. I actually took a ballroom dance course once. Not by choice," he added.

     "Oh really?" Sherlock laughed. "I don't know anything about ballroom."

     John quickly slipped off his boots.

     "Let's see if I remember anything," he smiled.

     John reached up for Sherlock's hand and placed his other arm around Sherlock's waist. He placed Sherlock's hand around his neck and their bodies came together so close they were nearly touching. John took a hesitant step to his left and Sherlock followed. Another step back and Sherlock followed again. Soon John was leading him around the room, Sherlock quickly picking up the steps. They were twirling and smiling like idiots. When they stopped, their torsos were touching, faces only inches from each other.

     John reached up and put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling him down to John's level. There he placed a sweet kiss on his lips. Sherlock's eyes were still closed with bliss when John pulled away. Sherlock had been lost in the kiss and hadn't heard the door open, but John had.

     Standing in the door was an unusually shy-looking Chuck. He waited hesitantly at the door. John immediately assumed battle position. He stepped in front of Sherlock.

     "The fuck do you want?" John spat at him. Since he had found out about his teammates he was unable to think about any of them with kind thoughts.

     "Can I just say something?" Chuck asked quietly. His demeanor relaxed John and he nodded. "I just wanted to say sorry to Sherlock. To both of you. If you like him, John, then clearly we misjudged him, and we're sorry," he said as he opened the door. Behind him was the rest of the rugby team. They slowly filed in, forming a line with their heads tilted down with remorse. Sherlock tilted his head in surprise. He wasn't expecting that.

     "Well," John said, clearly taken aback, "Thank you. That means a lot. I... I will see you all after school for practice."

     The team nodded and filed back out of the studio. John turned to Sherlock with a pleasantly surprised face.

     "That's not something you see every day," he mused, running his hand along Sherlock's pink cheek. 

     "No, I guess today is special then," Sherlock smiled, turning to kiss John's hand.

     John held back the cheesy line of _every day is special with you,_ regardless of its truth. The two boys stood like that for a moment before hearing the bell of the start of school. Sherlock picked up his things and reached for John's hand. They stopped at the door of the studio.

     "You really don't mind?" Sherlock couldn't help but ask.

     "What?"

     "Being seen with me... Like this," Sherlock looked at their entwined hands.

     "I'd mind not being seen like this," John smiled and opened the door. 

     They made their way down the hallway with their fair share of stares. Various teammates of John's scattered the hallways, nodding approvingly and staring menacingly at anyone who did not.

     "I'll see you after school, Sherlock," John said, kissing him on the cheek.

     Sherlock's heart squirmed with joy when John said his name. He nodded and left. He couldn't wait for the day to be over.


	6. Chapter 6

     John waited nervously by Sherlock's locker, having escaped algebra five minutes early. This shouldn't be happening to him. John Watson didn't get _nervous_. John Watson was the popular captain of the rugby team. John Watson made girls swoon for him and guys idolize him. He tackled men twice his size and never bat an eye. But here he was, leaning against a locker with his palms in cold sweats and his heart beating faster than he thought was humanly possible. He tried to look nonchalant as he saw the brunette come down the hall, still wearing his jacket. The thought that something of his around Sherlock at all times was comforting. It was like a shield, John thought. He could protect him even when they weren't together.

     Sherlock floated over to John with a small smile on his lips. _God, he's so beautiful._ John cleared his throat and managed a greeting. Sherlock grabbed what he needed from his locker and the two of them started walking. They passed several of John's teammates in the hallway, all of whom gave them ample space and polite nods. John was pleased with their reaction to his new relationship. Could he call it that? A relationship? They'd only just met and yet it had been the best days of John's life. He thought that winning a rugby match was thrilling, but being with Sherlock was something else. It was intoxicating. And addicting. John was feeling things he never thought possible already. He thought about it logically, or tried to, but it didn't make sense. How could someone so elegant and lovely ever deal with anyone so galumphing and tumultuous? He didn't want to think too hard about it, afraid Sherlock would realize what he was doing and change his mind. John was too selfish to let Sherlock go. Little did he know that Sherlock had nearly identical thoughts.

     As they walked hand in hand, which was now their routine, Sherlock asked him a question.

     "John, would you like to stay at my house for dinner tonight?" he paused and then continued shyly, "My parents are out of town for the weekend and-"

     "Yes!" John blurted out. He couldn't help it. Dinner, or really anything, with Sherlock was the only thing he wanted to do. "I mean... Sure, yeah that'd be cool," he tried to recover. It was too late. Sherlock had sensed his over-enthusiasm and was grinning. John had a sudden realization that made his stomach turn. "I have to ask my father," John said distantly.

     "I'm sure it's fine," Sherlock said. "One less mouth to feed for the night, right?" he joked. John tried to smile.

     "Right... I'll just call him and check," John said. He let go of Sherlock's hand to get his phone out of his pocket. He coldly dialed his house number and waited with dread for the voice on the other end to pick up. When he did, John turned away from Sherlock. Sherlock took the hint and gave him a few feet of privacy.

     "What?" the menacing voice asked over the phone.

     "Dad, it's John. I was just wondering-"

     "What do you want you little-"

     "Can I stay at a friend's house for dinner tonight? Please," he added for good measure.

     His father grumbled to himself for a minute. John readied himself for the yelling to begin.

     "Fine," was all he answered before he hung up. That went surprisingly well, John thought. He must have started drinking even earlier today.

     He turned back to face Sherlock with a smile on his face.

     "I can stay!" he exclaimed. Sherlock nearly jumped with joy.

     "I'm making spaghetti and meatballs," Sherlock exclaimed proudly, excluding the fact that it was the only dish he knew how to make.

     "Perfect," John replied, grabbing Sherlock's hand again.

     They walked down the street talking about their days. Sherlock had had a particularly long English class as he didn't care about Elizabethan poetry. John felt the same about his chemistry class, to which Sherlock scoffed and said he would have happily traded places in John.

     John couldn't help but keep smiling at him. Sherlock was so smart, beautiful and talented. What did he even see in John? There was something ethereal about Sherlock that John loved. He seemed almost inhuman, but more than human at the same time.

     When they reached Sherlock's house, they were greeted by no one. Sherlock's house was deserted. 

     "Mycroft left with my parents," Sherlock explained. John had heard about Sherlock's brother and wasn't sad he was away.

     "Whole house to ourselves then," John purred, licking his lips involuntarily. It made his heart stutter to think about being really alone with Sherlock.

     "We have some time before dinner," Sherlock noted. "What do you want to do?"

     John didn't answer with words. Instead he pulled his ballerina towards him, hands on Sherlock's hips. He let their bodies smash together before looking up at him. Sherlock's cheeks were bright red and John felt the warmth in his own. He rose on his tip toes and placed a light kiss on Sherlock's perfect lips. Sherlock chuckled.

     "Alright," he said.

     Sherlock took John's hand and led him up the stairs to his bedroom. When he opened the door, John wasn't surprised to see artful pictures of ballerinas, a table of elements poster, microscopes, and leotards, in every inch of the room. John couldn't see the floor because of the clothes, tights and shoes that littered it. Sherlock's bed was a mess of sheets and blankets. John would never be able to keep a room like this, but it fit Sherlock.

     He felt a hand lead him over to the bed and they sat down next to each other. John tentatively placed a hand on Sherlock's thigh. He had never been with a boy before. He wasn't exactly sure how things should progress. But when he looked at Sherlock, all his apprehension left him. He leaned over and kissed Sherlock again, letting their lips mold to each other. He slid his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and ran his hands through his curls. Sherlock moved back to lay on the bed and John's legs automatically straddled him. He was careful not to put any pressure on Sherlock's small frame. He didn't want to hurt him at all. 

     Sherlock's hands found their way to John's hair and anchored themselves there. John moved his lips with Sherlock's in a natural rhythm. Soon John's tongue found it's way to Sherlock's mouth and took its time exploring every inch of his mouth. Sherlock moaned into John's mouth and John almost lost it. This was unbelievable.

     Sherlock's hands left his hair and went to help John with his shirt. Lost in the moment, John didn't think to stop him. Sherlock pulled the shirt over's John's head, breaking the kiss for a moment. Sherlock's eyes danced over John's newly revealed skin. John was prepared to continue kissing Sherlock, but when he leaned down to do so, he felt Sherlock's cold fingers on his bare chest, stopping him.

     "What?" John asked, completely worried he'd done something wrong.

     "What are these?" Sherlock asked. John mentally slapped himself. How could he have been so careless. He grabbed his shirt to try to cover the bruises again. He moved off Sherlock to the side of him, wrapping his arms protectively around himself.

     "Nothing," he tried to evade.

     Sherlock's fierce gaze was so intense, John had to look away.

     "That's not from rugby," Sherlock said quietly.

     "Sure they are," John lied.

     "Is this what you and my mum were talking about the other day? Or rather, not talking. This has something to do with your father? Doesn't it?" he asked calmly. John could tell by the softness in his eyes that he wasn't blaming John. He was genuinely concerned, something John hadn't seen in anyone's eyes in a long time.

     "Maybe," John admitted. He felt a little lighter after he said it. Sherlock adjusted himself to sit up and face John.

     "He hurts you," Sherlock said, taking John's hand.

     "It's my own fault," John replied automatically. "I muck shit up all the time."

     Sherlock's voice, which was usually as languid and dreamy as his twirls was suddenly hard and brave.

     "It is not your fault, John. Fathers are not meant to hurt their children. He is the problem. Not you."

     The absoluteness of the statement was too much for John. For once in his life, he believed that. Contrary to everything he'd ever been told for his entire life, Sherlock made John feel like he was worth something. And that's when he started to cry. He couldn't help it. John figured he'd been holding this in for his whole life now. The water was pouring from his eyes and he couldn't speak. His throat was choking with sobs. He felt embarrassed. He didn't want Sherlock to see him like this. This wasn't the plan. What would Sherlock do?

     Sherlock sat hesitantly next to John for a moment. He wasn't used to having people around him, much less crying people. He wasn't sure what he should do. Ultimately he decided that the correct thing, the best thing, for him to do would just be to hold John and let him cry it out. That's what Sherlock's mother had always done for him. He held the blonde for almost an hour and said nothing. He just rubbed his back and let him cry. John leaned against Sherlock both physically and mentally. Sherlock knew what he was going through, or at least, could understand the feelings: abuse, exile, shame, guilt. These were all things Sherlock had known in his childhood, growing up, figuring out who he was. He had had nights like this. It was time John had his. It would help heal him. Sherlock would help heal him.

     Finally the tears started to dry and John sniffed to a stop. His red, tired eyes searched Sherlock, sure that he would find disgust, hatred, or rejection. He almost cried again from happiness when all he saw was love and acceptance. Sherlock leaned in and gave him a small peck on the cheek.

     "I'm alright now, I think," John said. His voice sounded hoarse and tired.

     "It's okay if you're not," Sherlock offered.

     "No I'm okay... Thank you."

     "Any time," Sherlock gave a small smile. He waited a minute to make sure that John was actually okay. When no more tears came he said, "Why don't we go have some dinner then?"

     The boys ate their meal and talked like old friends. They talked about school and rugby and ballet. They talked about normal things and that helped John recover more. But the night went quickly by, and as they sat with their empty plates, John feared what was next.

     "I should get going," he said, weighted with dread.

     "Oh, alright," Sherlock sighed. He got up to grab John's plate and stopped. "Or... you could stay here."

     "I can't," John said. Thought he wanted to stay more than anything. "My father is expecting me home. And I can't leave my sister alone with him."

     "She can come too," Sherlock offered. "I just... don't want you staying in that house."

     "I don't want to stay there either," John admitted. He checked his phone. There was a message from Harry. It read: _going to a party tonight, see you late late late._ "Apparently my sister has made other plans anyway," John noted. Suddenly it dawned on him. He had no reason to go home tonight. There was no sister to protect, he had everything he needed for tomorrow's practice in his rugby bag... He could stay.

     "So..." Sherlock said, also noting the reasoning.

     "But shouldn't I go home?" John asked, mostly to himself. He'd never stayed out a night before without telling his father. "I have to go home. I have to," he sighed.

     Sherlock moved closer to him and put a finger under John's chin, lifting it upwards. He spoke with the same plainness as before.

     "No," he said, "You _don't_ have to."


	7. Chapter 7

         John had never slept so well in his life. After Sherlock had persuaded him to stay, he had started to feel the effects of the emotional night he just had. His eyes were heavy from crying and it didn’t take much persuasion to curl up and go to sleep. Sherlock had snuggled up next to John and ended up with his head on John’s chest, John’s arm wrapped around him. When John woke up the first thing he did without thinking was run his hand through Sherlock’s curls. They were irresistible in the morning sunlight. As his hand left the silky locks, Sherlock started to wake up, stretching minutely and sighing. With sleepy eyes, he looked up at John and smiled. John could live in that look. It was unguarded and innocent. Simply Sherlock.

            “Good morning,” Sherlock said, groggily.

            “Morning,” smiled John.

            “How are you?” Sherlock asked hesitantly.

            John smiled and said he was fine. And he was, for the most part. Last night had really opened his eyes to a lot of things. He owed Sherlock for all of it. Brushing the few stray curls off Sherlock’s forehead, John started,

            “So I have to go to rugby practice today… Would you-“

            “Can I watch?” Sherlock answered the question before it was asked.

            John laughed. He was excited that Sherlock wanted to see him in his element, as John had seen Sherlock in his.

            “I was going to ask if you wanted to,” he said. “It might be boring but it won’t last too long.”

            “I want to go,” Sherlock said eagerly.

            “Alright then,” John said.

            Grudgingly, the boys got up and out of bed. They fixed themselves breakfast, all the while talking about everything under the sun. They both seemed more relaxed with each other than ever before. Each started accepting that they were worth something. And not just to themselves, but to each other.

            After breakfast Sherlock packed a small bag with some snacks and book, just in case he got bored, as John suggested. Sherlock could not possibly get bored watching John do anything. He was absolutely fascinating. However he obeyed the request and put a book in his bag. He changed into his favorite oversized long sleeved shirt and tight leggings. He started making unsatisfied faces at the mess that was his hair until John came in and told him it was perfect. He blushed a lot and left his hair the way it was.

            John had changed into his rugby gear, which Sherlock found unbelievably attractive. There was something so manly about John but with softness around the edges. It was the perfect combination.

            They left the house hand in hand and headed to the rugby field at the school. When they arrived the rest of the team was already warming up. They watched as John led Sherlock up to the edge of the field and pointed to the benches where Sherlock could watch. Just as he was about to leave John to go sit there, John pulled him in for a kiss. Sherlock was nervous at first, as the whole team was watching them, but as John deepened the kiss, he forgot about everything around him. There was only John. John’s soft lips, his rough hands, and his sweet scent. Sherlock’s head spun and he almost fell down when John pulled away. Luckily John’s hand was on the small of his back and held him until the world stopped spinning. Sherlock could feel the team’s eyes on his back, but didn’t dare look at them as he made his way to the safety of his bench, cheeks burning like fire.

            John strutted onto the field. Sherlock watched with pride as John expertly commanded his teammates. Sherlock was enjoying watching all these guys running around and practicing their sport. John was particularly good. He was faster and stronger than the other players, no surprise to Sherlock. Sherlock had never been one for sports but as the team practiced small scrimmages, he was impressed by the agility and form it took to make everything work.

            During one of the first exercises, one of the guys got hurt. He twisted his foot badly and Sherlock saw John rush towards him. He helped lift the guy and gave him a shoulder to use for balance as he limped over to Sherlock’s bench. Sherlock’s nerves were running wild again. Was he going to sit next to Sherlock? Surely he wouldn’t do anything to terrorize him right in front of John. Still, he didn’t know what he would say to the guy. He had liked watching from afar.

            John made his way over and placed the guy next to Sherlock.

            “This is Brad,” John introduced.

            Sherlock gave an insecure wave and Brad nodded, still in quite a lot of pain.

            “Under your seat is the ice pack cooler, could you get one?” John asked Sherlock.

            Sherlock did as he was told and retrieved an ice pack. He handed it to John.

            “Thanks, babe,” he said. Sherlock could see the moment when John realized what he had called Sherlock, assessed it, and realized it was okay with him. Sherlock smiled. It felt amazing to be John’s anything.

            When John was satisfied that Brad was going to be okay, he stepped closer to Sherlock.

            “How’s it going?” he smiled, sweat dripping off his handsome features. “Bored stiff yet?”

            “Never,” Sherlock responded. He saw John’s face light up at his response. John leaned in and gave Sherlock a quick kiss and headed back to the field.

            “You’re a lucky guy,” Brad smiled, turning to face Sherlock. His ankle was swollen to twice its normal size, a sight that made Sherlock’s stomach turn. Instead he focused his attention on Brad’s face. He was a heavyset guy with chubby cheeks, but brilliant green eyes. Sherlock smiled unconsciously.

            “Yeah,” he said, swinging his feet. “I’m still not sure it’s not a dream.”

            Brad smiled. Sherlock relaxed a little. Clearly Brad was not going to antagonize him.

            “I can tell he really likes you,” Brad said. “I’ve never seen him act like that with anyone. Ever.”

            “Well I happen to really like him,” Sherlock admitted.

            “Can I tell you something?” Brad asked hesitantly.

            “I guess so.”

            “I just wanted to say thank you. Well, to you and John. Because I’ve seen how the team accepts you guys, I think I’m going to finally come out.”

            It took a second for Sherlock to process this, but he turned to Brad and smiled.

            “Good,” he said, “No one should have to hide who they are… I think now that will be easier for me as well,” he added.

            “I have a boyfriend in another school,” Brad continued. “I’ve wanted to bring him here and now I think I can.”

            “That’s great,” Sherlock said.

            “I think that you’re good for John,” Brad said, after a moment of contemplation. “I think you make him better.”

            Sherlock didn’t know what to say. It had only been a few days. How could Brad see a difference already?

            “How?” he asked, curious.

            “I can just sense a difference. It’s like there’s less weighing him down. He seems lighter, happier.”

            Sherlock could sense that too. Even just since last night, John had seemed a lot better.

            Their conversation was interrupted by the team’s break. Everyone came over to grab water and take a rest. John of course took a seat next to Sherlock, sliding his arm around Sherlock’s waist. He was radiating heat, but Sherlock didn’t mind. The other teammates grabbed their bottles and sat on the grass in front of Sherlock’s bench. Sherlock would have felt extremely self-conscious, but John’s protective arm shielded any of those negative feelings. The guys laughed and joked, always with John getting the biggest laughs. Sherlock didn’t add anything. He watched and listened intently. It was a whole other culture to him. He had never had any friends, really, so this dynamic was like entering a whole new world.

            Every so often John would squeeze Sherlock closer to him. Sherlock leaned closer to John and put his hand on John’s leg. He just wanted to be as close to him as possible at all times. John turned to Sherlock at the contact and kissed him quickly. It felt so natural and so loving. Sherlock had never accepted PDA, but with John it just felt like breathing more than a display of any kind.

            “Oh get a room,” one teammate joked.

            John stuck his tongue out at him and proceeded to kiss Sherlock even more passionately. Sherlock giggled and broke the kiss.

            “So Sherlock, you gonna come out with us tomorrow?” Another asked.

            Sherlock didn’t know what to say. He had never been asked out anywhere, let alone with an entire rugby team. John looked at him for an answer as well.

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Sherlock responded, uncertain if John would want him to tag along.

            “Come!” John said, squeezing Sherlock to his side again.

            “Yeah, come on, we’d love to have you,” Chuck said. He sounded sincere.

            “Alright, I guess I’ll come,” Sherlock smiled. It felt amazing to be included in something. John looked at him with a proud smile. He checked his watch and told everyone it was time to get back to practice. He left Sherlock with a peck on the cheek. Sherlock sat with Brad until the end of practice, talking about this and that with no trouble at all.

            Sherlock couldn’t stop the happiness that was building up in him. The acceptance, the joy, it was a lot to take in. And equally with that happiness came doubt. Doubt that this was real, that it could last. Any happiness he’d ever known outside his home had been fleeting at best. He wanted to hold on to John and never let him go.

            By the end of practice it was well past lunch. John walked tiredly over to him, and Sherlock stood up.

            “So,” he said, taking Sherlock’s hands in his. “I have a question.”

            “What’s that?” Sherlock asked.

            “I was wondering if you wanted to go on a proper date,” John asked, eyes full of excitement, “With me… Tonight,” he added.

            Sherlock pretended to debate this as if there was any other option but yes. He did this until John lightly punched his arm and laughed.

            “Yes, of course,” Sherlock chuckled.

            “Good,” John said, “Because I kind of like you a lot.”

            Sherlock gave him a shy smile.

            “I kind of like you a lot too,” he almost whispered.

            They walked home together, John leaving Sherlock at his house to go home and changed. They arranged for John to pick Sherlock up in his car around seven. The venue was a secret, as John wanted to surprise him. He only told Sherlock to dress nicely. He left with a kiss, leaving Sherlock dizzy again. They went their separate ways, both equally excited for the night ahead.

 


	8. Chapter 8

     Sherlock swatted his mother's hand away from his bow tie.

     "It's fine," he huffed as she smiled at him.

     His father stood by the kitchen table, watching them with a loving gaze. It had taken almost all of Sherlock's nerve to tell his parents about his date with John. Not that they didn't already know or at least suspect that Sherlock and John were together. But to him, it seemed that now, with this official date, something should be said. And so he had told his parents, and subsequently his brother, Mycroft, who was listening in from their door, that he was going on a date with the captain of the rugby team and they shouldn't wait up for him.

     His mother had squealed with delight at the news of her son's first date. His father had simply patted him on the back and smiled. Sherlock could almost hear Mycroft rolling his eyes behind the door before he left to go do whatever it was that Mycroft did when he was alone.

     Sherlock had chosen to wear a shirt and vest, adorned at the top with a bow tie. He had tried to contain the jungle that was his curls, but didn't have much success. He was not used to wearing this fancy of clothing and felt uncomfortable in his huge dress shoes. Right on time the door bell rang and Sherlock's heart beat sped up with it. He tried not to run to the door, but in the end lost the battle and almost sprinted. He opened the door and the sight nearly took his breath away. John was standing there in a crisp white shirt with the top few buttons undone. He wore dress pants and shoes and his hair was combed back. In his outstretched hand he held a bouquet of flowers for Sherlock. He was too perfect, Sherlock thought.

     "I didn't know what your favorite flower was," John blushed, "So I got one with a ton of different kinds."

     "They're beautiful," Sherlock gawked. He couldn't believe how thoughtful John was. Well, he could believe it, but to have that affection directed towards him felt incredible.

     "Mr and Mrs Holmes," John nodded. Sherlock's parents waved and said hello. They quickly cleared the hallway when Sherlock gave them the cue. He stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind him.

     "Ready?" John asked.

     "Are you going to tell me where we are going?" Sherlock asked.

     "Nope," John smiled. He held out his arm for Sherlock to take. He lead the brunette around the car and opened the door for him. After Sherlock had gotten in the car, John closed the door and buckled up. They drove about ten minutes before reaching the restaurant. Sherlock had passed it a few times but it was always too pricey for him or his family to really go to. He turned to John, about to say something but John interrupted him by saying, "Don't worry, my treat."

     Sherlock wanted to protest, to say that he wasn't worth all this trouble, but John's gaze told him that if he tried any of that, he would not win that fight.

     John went around and opened Sherlock's door for him. Again he gave him his arm and they walked into Angelo's restaurant. The place was all candle lit, with a few couples spread out here and there. Immediately, an older Italian man came rushing towards them.

     "John! My John!" He smiled. Sherlock almost ran for cover, the man was speeding towards them so quickly, however, John's arm kept him securely at his side. "I have the table all ready for you and your date. The most romantic table. Please, come, follow me."

     "Thank you, Angelo," John said casually.

     Sherlock stared at both of them. What was happening here? Angelo turned to Sherlock and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at Sherlock like a man who needed him to know something vital.

     "This man," he said, gesturing to John, "Saved my life."

     "That's not quite true," John chuckled.

     "He saved my life," Angelo continued, staring at Sherlock. "He saw me up against four guys out back and took three of them down without blinking."

     "I definitely blinked, among other things," John added to Sherlock.

     "I would have died if they had gotten me, but John took them down."

     "He's forgetting the part where the fourth one knocked me out cold," John laughed.

     "But without John I would have faced four maniacs instead of just one. I would have died. John saved my life," he finished. "And that is why it's on the house. All of it, I am in his debt."

     Sherlock looked at John in shock. John just shrugged and gestured for Sherlock to follow Angelo who was now leading them through the restaurant to a back table with tens of candles surrounding it.

     Sherlock could definitely believe that John would have run right into that fight. He would have taken the side of the underdog and fought to his last breath. Sherlock was impressed. John was a very brave man, something Sherlock could only admire. He had yet to realize that bravery comes in many different packages, even teenage boy ballet dancer packages.

     Angelo seated them at a table for two. He let John pull out Sherlock's seat. Sherlock felt heat rising in him when John let his hands linger on Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock could really not believe this was real. He was sitting across from the most handsome man in the world.

     "You look very handsome in that bow tie," John noted as he picked up a menu.

     Sherlock fidgeted nervously with it. He tried to think of something to say to John but for some reason he was feeling more under pressure than normal. It was a lot to take in, all this chivalry and tales of heroism. Sherlock felt woefully unworthy. John could sense something was wrong with his ballerina but he wasn't sure what it was.

     "Sherlock?" John tried. This only made Sherlock more nervous as butterflies flew through his stomach whenever John said his name. He had never liked his name until John had said it.

     "Hm? What?" Sherlock tried to seem nonchalant.

     "Is something wrong?"

     Sherlock looked up to see John looking up at him with his head tilted down. He looked like a sad puppy.

     "No," Sherlock lied.

     "You don't want to be here with me, do you?" John sighed. Sherlock's head snapped up.

     "Why would you think that?" he asked.

     "Because it's too much. I'm too much," he said sadly.

     "No," Sherlock laughed, "It's that I'm not enough."

     John looked quizzically at him for a few seconds.

     "What?"

     "You bring me to this amazing restaurant, you open doors for me, pull out chairs for me. I hear about you saving a guy's life, and you're so goddamn hot in that shirt and I just-" Sherlock cut himself off. "I just... I don't know why... Why you'd want me... I don't... deserve this," he said, honestly.

     "What?" John repeated. "Why do you think that?"

     "Well what could I possibly offer you? All I have is myself," Sherlock said. He hated himself for ruining their date like this, but it's all he could think about.

     " _All_ you have? Sherlock. I don't think you understand. That's all I want. I want you. I want you," he repeated for good measure. "I want your sweet smile and your caring touch. I want the way you hold me and the safety I feel in your arms. I want you and your tights and your dancing. I want your lips and your hands. I want you because I like you. I'm doing all of this to show you that. Don't you dare say you don't deserve it. If I've learned anything from being with you these past few days it's that everyone is worth something. You are worth something. I am worth something. We deserve each other because we are good people. And if you'll have me, I would like to have you."

     His speech left Sherlock without breath. He had spoken with such conviction and confidence there was no way any of that was untrue. Sherlock's mind processed things quickly, but it took him a few seconds to react to that. He slowly brought his gaze to meet John's.

     "I... I would like that," he barely whispered.

     John's face softened and he smiled a little. Sherlock followed suit.

     "Good," John said. "Now, can we continue this date?"

     "Yes please," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry," he added. "I'm just... not used to this kind of thing."

     "What kind of thing?"

     "I don't know... Being liked I guess," he sort of smiled in spite of himself. "I just start to doubt myself."

     "Well you shouldn't," John replied. "Because you're lovely."

     "Well I think you're lovely too," Sherlock smiled.

     The boys ordered their food and Angelo told them he would prepare it himself. John nodded his thanks and returned his attention to Sherlock. The dancer couldn't help but stare at the rugby boy that had stolen his heart. John had such a kind face. Sherlock couldn't imagine anything more beautiful.  
       
     "Is this your first date?" John asked, his mouth full of pasta. He was trying to break the tension they had created by their severe attraction to each other.

     "Yes," Sherlock admitted. "I never really thought about what it would be like, to be honest."

     "It's never as good as you think," John said, looking back at his past first dates. "There's so much expectation and suspense before the big kiss at the end. And it's hardly ever worth it." He noted the look of inadequacy again in Sherlock's face and quickly added, "But it's different with you. I already know how amazing your kiss is," he said cheekily. Sherlock smiled.

     "Have you been on a lot of first dates then?" Sherlock asked. He knew John was popular with the ladies at school, but he couldn't help asking about John's history.

     "Yeah, I guess so," John said, fork still in his mouth. Sherlock chuckled at his informality in such a ritzy place. "But I always felt trapped, I think. Like I was doing it because I was supposed to be doing it."

     "Oh," was all Sherlock could think to add.

     "But," John smiled, swallowing his food, "There's one date so far that I feel inexpressibly free and at ease on." He lowered his head and raised his eyebrows rapidly indicating Sherlock was that date. Sherlock laughed in amusement. John could be so goofy sometimes, it was nice to laugh so much. "How's your first date going?" John asked, miming a survey taker with a clipboard and pen. "On a scale from atrocious to exceedingly well, how would you rate this first date?"

     "Well," Sherlock started, taking his time, "I'd have to say..." he paused, watching John's expectant face. "Unbelievably amazing."

     John finished his survey gag and checked off the highest mark with an accomplished grin. Sherlock shook his head at his ridiculous date. 

     When they had finished eating, Angelo came and led them out, promising to always leave a table open for them whenever they needed it. Sherlock smiled shyly at the large Italian and let John's arm guide him outside.

     The cool night air was a relief from the warmth of the candles and the heat caused by their excited nervousness. Sherlock felt secure with John's arm around him. He started walking in the direction of John's car, but John's arm led him a different way.

     "Aren't we-" Sherlock started.

     "Another surprise," John smiled.

     Sherlock couldn't believe this. Already this had been the perfect date. How could John possibly top it? They walked for a while until they had passed the storefronts and offices. The field stretched out before them like a soft green blanket. John led Sherlock to the middle of the field and sat down. He motioned for Sherlock to follow him.

     They sat together side by side.

     "What are we doing here?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.

     "Look up," was all John said.

     Sherlock obeyed and moved his eyes toward the sky. He gasped as he saw the clearest stars he'd ever seen. He didn't realize how much the lights from the town had cut off the view. Lights twinkled and danced in ways he'd only seen years ago on an awful camping trip. Here with John they seemed to shine even brighter. When he looked back at his rugby player, he found that John was staring at him.

     "Will you be my boyfriend?" John asked plainly. He was smiling and his eyes were brighter than the stars.

     "Yes, of course," Sherlock almost screamed with joy.

     They both broke out into enormous smiles. It was a formality that John had wanted to clarify for some time. He didn't want Sherlock to belong to anyone else. He wanted it to be him and Sherlock. The two of them against the rest of the world. Forever. John moved his hand to caress Sherlock's face. They leaned in and kissed. They felt what it was like to be a shooting star. Everything around them melted and they leaned into the kiss even further. They laid back and John rolled onto his back allowing Sherlock's slight form to lay on top of him. He wrapped his big arms around his small ballerina and smiled into his kiss. Neither of them would ever tire of this.

     They kissed and kissed for a long time, in no rush for the night to end. John was sure to take this slowly this time. He knew that Sherlock was inexperienced and delicate. He didn't want to do anything Sherlock didn't want. For now he was just happy to kiss his boyfriend under the heavens.Time would bring would be only better things. He broke the kiss, wanting to tell Sherlock these thoughts.

     "Sherlock," he said in a whisper. "We can take things slowly, okay? I want you to tell me if I'm moving too fast for you."

     "Thanks," Sherlock replied, his lips red from kissing.

     "Yeah, sure. I just want to take things slowly for you," John said again.

     "Okay," Sherlock said, biting his lip. He looked down and then back up at John and added, "But you don't have to."


	9. Chapter 9

     John gazed up at Sherlock's timid smile and bit his lip. He was so happy to just hold Sherlock in his arms, but to explore his body, to make that physical connection, was something John wanted more than anything. Slowly, he kissed Sherlock and rolled them over. Sherlock lay in the grass with stars in his eyes. John straddled him, placing each knee carefully to the side of his dancer. He carefully undid Sherlock's bow tie and revealed the alabaster neck beneath it. He continued unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, with careful attention to his boyfriend's reaction. If he detected any note of uncertainty, John was prepared to stop.

     He undid Sherlock's vest and finished with his shirt, exposing more skin that he had ever seen. Sherlock's body was lean and muscular. In comparison with John's bulky, pudgy tummy, they were as different as the sun and the moon. John placed small kisses trailing from Sherlock's lips, to his jaw, and down his chest. Sherlock hummed with enjoyment and closed his eyes.

     John had never done this with a boy before, but somehow it felt more right than all this times with girls. He planted his sweet kisses all down Sherlock's chest and stomach. Sherlock giggled at John's tummy kisses and John looked up at him in amusement.

     "That tickles," Sherlock chuckled.

     John said nothing and continued downwards. Sherlock wouldn't be chuckling for much longer, he thought. When John go to the the button of Sherlock's pants he glanced up. Seeing no resistance, and actually encouragement, he undid the button and zipper. Sherlock arched his back and John slid Sherlock's pants and briefs down to his knees. He massaged Sherlock's anxious thighs with his warm hands and felt Sherlock finally start to relax. With a few light strokes, John had Sherlock where he wanted him.

     Tasting Sherlock was the best part of John's night. He felt his little ballerina huff and moan, writhe and wriggle, all at the the tongue of Captain John Watson. He wanted to make Sherlock feel good. He deserved to feel good. John took his time pleasuring Sherlock and smiled internally when he came in John's mouth, panting his name. With one more sweeping stroke of Sherlock's thighs, John sat up and looked at his lover. Sherlock was sweating slightly and all out of sorts. There was a liveliness in his eyes from the orgasm John had given him. John smiled and wiped his mouth, proud to have done so well his first time.

     "Fuck," exclaimed Sherlock, breathing heavily.

     "I'll take that as a compliment," John smiled, lying down next to him. He turned to look at Sherlock, expecting to see that dreamy look that he'd just seen. Instead there was a new fire in Sherlock. It looked like he was about to take on a challenge or something. John's brow furrowed. "What?" he asked.

     Sherlock said nothing and rolled on top of John. He kissed him with a new fervor that John found he rather enjoyed. Following John's lead, Sherlock undid John's buttons and kissed him all down his torso.

     John gasped as Sherlock touched him, sending electric shocks through him. Sherlock was determined to return what his lover had given him. Girls had given him blow jobs before, but Sherlock was something entirely different. The connection between them heightened John's arousal to a point he didn't know possible. Sherlock took John in his mouth and had him screaming in the empty field in no time. Just as his lover had done, Sherlock swallowed when John came, and smiled with pride at the pleasure he had given his rugby boy.

     Sherlock sat up and leaned over John, kissing him lightly before curling up next to him.

     "That... was amazing," John whispered, kissing the top of those glorious curls.

     "Mmm," Sherlock agreed.

     Both boys silently ruminated on the events of the past few minutes. Neither could form in words what they had felt. There was something more between them now. A sort of closeness that comes with physical intimacy. John hugged Sherlock tighter. It seemed they could never be close enough to each other, even if they clutched on for dear life. They lay in the field in a happy sleepiness for some time before John spoke.

     "I should probably get you home," he regretted.

     "I suppose," Sherlock sighed.

     "I wish we could spend every night together," John mused.

     "Improbable," was Sherlock's sleepy rational reply.

     John smiled up at the sky at Sherlock's response. He found Sherlock's rational comments quite amusing, seeing as John rarely had them himself.

     "I feel safe with you," John said, after some silence.

     "Me too," Sherlock admitted softly.

     "I don't feel like that a lot," John admitted.

     "What?" Sherlock asked, shocked. He moved to sit up so he could look at John. Brave, fearless John. "How could you feel unsafe ever? You're John. You're Captain of the rugby team. You could take anyone," Sherlock said. He was used to fearing the physicality of other people. What could John have to fear of that?

     "I'm scared of my dad," John admitted. "I feel like I can't fight him. It's not just physical with him, you know?" John added.

     Sherlock didn't know. His parents had never laid a hand on him. He thought for a while about how he would feel if that happened to him.

     "But you feel safe with me?" he repeated, wheels turning.

     "Yes," John said.

     Sherlock's brain took less than a second to come to a rational conclusion.

     "Then why don't you stay with me?"

     "What?"

     "Why don't you stay with me all the time?"

     "Because my dad would freak out," John laughed.

     "Okay, maybe not every night. But some nights. Maybe?" Sherlock looked at John with vulnerable eyes. 

     "Maybe some nights when Harry goes out," John thought, leaning into the idea more and more. "Maybe..." John trailed off, his heart getting the better of him.

     Sherlock smiled. He would love if John stayed over nights.

     "You'd probably have to sneak in," Sherlock added, smiling softly.

     "I am quite good at climbing drain pipes," John mused, reaching for Sherlock's hand.

     "Would it help?" Sherlock asked nervously.

     John leaned in and kissed his dancer's lips. 

     "Yes," John sighed. The thought of spending any time away from home made him feel a hundred pounds lighter. Knowing that that time would be spent with Sherlock made him feel absolutely weightless.

     Regrettably, John knew that Harry was home for the night. He had to return home. He always had the innate sense that he needed to protect her. He stood up and held out a hand which Sherlock took. Sherlock stood with quite a bit more grace than John, and they held hands.

     "I do have to go home tonight," John said. "For Harry."

     Sherlock bit his lip but nodded.

     "I'll see what her plans are for the week and let you know, okay?"

     "Okay," Sherlock said. "I just wish you didn't have to take care of everyone."

     John shrugged and then kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "I like taking care of you," he said smoothly. Sherlock blushed. They made their way to John's car and John opened the door for Sherlock.

     They drove home. As John's hand was on the gear shift, so was Sherlock's, blanketing his nimble fingers over John's pudgy digits. They drove home listening to The Smiths and thinking silently about their date.

     When they arrived at Sherlock's house, John walked him to the door. The rest of the Holmes' family resided in the living room, carefully acting as if they weren't watching the boys.

     John kissed Sherlock goodnight. Sherlock didn't care that his family was watching. He kissed John with all the passion he felt until he swore he would pass out from the elation. They said goodnight and went their separate ways, each waiting for the next night they'd be able to spend together.


	10. Chapter 10

By now, waiting for John in the mornings was becoming habit. Sherlock would assemble his things for the day and wait in the house, peering excitedly to see his rugby captain boyfriend trudging up the hill, still half asleep. They hadn't been able to see each other much lately between all their practices and school work, but at least they had their morning walks. Sherlock opened the door and stepped out into the cool morning air. John's head popped up and a smile spread on his face. He pulled Sherlock in for a quick kiss and they joined hands to walk to school.  
John had not forgotten about their talk. He had been waiting for an opportunity to sneak out to go to Sherlock's, but Harry had been home almost every night and John couldn't chance leaving her alone with their father. However, all that stress was nonexistent when Sherlock's hand was in his. They walked in sync while John let out loud yawns and Sherlock laughed at them. When they arrived at the school, John's team was outside, listening to Brad talk about something. The boys strolled up and the team turned to say hello. They all dispersed into smaller groups and Sherlock went up to Brad while John went to talk to the rest of his team.  
"What were you guys talking about?" Sherlock asked, curious about the semi-circle.  
Brad blushed. He was sitting on the ledge, banging his feet against the bricks.  
"Well, actually, I was just telling them that my boyfriend is coming down this weekend," he smiled. There was gratitude in Brad's eyes. Sherlock recalled their talk on the bench. John and him had been a sort of inspiration apparently.  
"Oh that's great," Sherlock said. "What're you going to do?"  
"The dance, Sherlock. We're going to that school dance."  
Sherlock rarely had moments of complete blankness, but this was one of them. There was something dance related that he did not know about?  
"What dance?" he asked.  
"The one for seniors. I'm taking Alby as my date."  
Sherlock considered this. John was a senior, he was a junior. Were they going to go to the dance? It seemed unlikely given that John had not asked him, nor showed any interest in public displays of rhythm. Sherlock actually felt a little twinge of disappointment. He had never been inclined to school functions, but maybe with John things would be better, more bearable. It seemed that way in every other aspect of life so far.  
While Sherlock was lost in thought, John came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist.  
"So I hear you have a hot date, Brad," John said, kissing Sherlock's neck after he spoke. Brad smiled at his lap.  
"I'm really excited for you guys to meet him," he said.  
"Well I can't wait! Hey Sherlock, come here for a sec," John said, pulling the still thoughtful brunette aside. "So what would you say if I asked you to the dance?" John's eyes were playful.  
Sherlock felt a sudden rush of happiness. He saw them dancing together under shining lights, both dressed up, forehead to forehead and he smiled.  
"I think I would probably say yes," he decided.  
"Good," John smiled. "Then it's a date."

Sherlock smiled and felt John's warmth against his back. It felt so nice that Sherlock almost forgot they were at school until the bell rang. The boys made their way slowly inside the school and separated for their classes.

John could hardly concentrate on math before Sherlock, but now it was impossible. He kept drifting off into his dream land where he would picture Sherlock with his bouncy curls and tight pants, slow dancing beneath twinkling lights. He was startled awake when the teacher called his name. Embarrassed, John tried his best to pay attention, but kept coming back to that image.

Similarly, Sherlock found it hard to focus on dancing. He kept abandoning ballet to practice slow dancing. If he closed his eyes and concentrated it seemed like John was right there with him. He could hardly wait.

The week passed without much disturbance and at last it was Friday, the day of the dance. The whole school was excited at the prospect of what the dance could hold for them. Sherlock and John left school hand in hand, walking as they always did. John squeezed Sherlock's hand before he spoke.

"So," he started hesitantly, "I think I'm going to tell my dad." Until now, all John's father had known was that John had been spending some nights at his mate's house. He didn't know about Sherlock yet.

"Why now?" asked Sherlock, curious.

"It's way past time that I told him," John said, running his free hand through his blonde locks. "I want to be able to bring you over and say, 'This is Sherlock, my boyfriend.'"

Sherlock blushed. He would adore that. He loved when John referred to him as _his_.

"You don't have to," Sherlock said. He didn't want John to get in trouble with his father. Especially because he was so violent.

"Yes I do," John smiled. "This is who I am."

Sherlock planted a kiss on his boyfriend's lips and smiled.

When they arrived at Sherlock's house, they parted with a hesitant kiss. Neither wanted to wait until that evening to be together again, but the anticipation was part of the fun.

"Why don't you pick me up tonight?" John suggested. "That way my dad can meet you."

"I'd love to," Sherlock said, taking down John's address. "I'll see you at 7."

The boys parted ways and Sherlock watched as John left his house with a bounce in his step.

Sherlock got ready for the dance about two hours early. He sat on his bed in his tux and bow tie, staring at the clock. The anticipation was too much! He couldn't wait to see John and meet John's father. Even though he sort of hated the man who made John feel so bad all the time, he wanted to be able to know every part of John. Even the not so great parts.

Just as the clock was nearing time for Sherlock to leave, there was a ring at the door. Sherlock wondered who it would be until he heard his mother's voice say, "Oh, my, John. Come in," in her most motherly, concerned tone.

When Sherlock made it downstairs his heart almost fell out of his chest. John was sitting by the door, on the floor, with two black eyes and torn, bloody clothes. He was trying not to cry, but his shoulders were shaking and he bit his lip so hard it bled.

Sherlock ran to him and put his arms around him. Mrs. Holmes had an ice pack ready in no time, which John took to the worse looking eye.

"Well, I told him," John laughed through the pain.

"Jesus Christ," was all Sherlock could manage. Together, he and his mom hoisted John up and carried him over to their couch. The floral pattern would have hurt John's eyes normally, but for now it was a welcome sight.

Mrs. Holmes put on some tea, but gave the boys some room to talk.

"He did this because of me," Sherlock said, feeling about a hundred pounds of guilt on his shoulders. He looked at John's face and felt hot tears fall down his cheek.

"What? No!" John exclaimed. "He did this to me because he's a homophobic, loveless git!" John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock realized that he should be the strong one here. He should be comforting John, not the other way around.

Sherlock dried his tears and grabbed John's hands.

"I'm sorry he did this to you," Sherlock said, stroking John's palm lightly. John gave him a small smile.

"I don't know why I expected any different, to be honest," John replied.

Sherlock's mother came in with their tea and set it down on the coffee table. She took a chair and sat opposite her boys.

"John," she asked calmly, "Where's Harry?"

John shot up off of the couch and started towards the door, but Mrs. Holmes caught him.

"She's out but she'll be home soon," he said, still trying to leave. "I have to go."

"Sit down," Mrs. Holmes said in a tone that was definitely an order.

John sat down.

"What's her number?" she asked.

John gave her the digits and Mrs. Holmes dialed for him. She gave him the phone and told him that Harry was to come here when she returned, not home.

John forced his voice under control and told his sister to come to Sherlock's address. He didn't say why, only that it was absolutely vital.

"We should really get you checked out," Mrs. Holmes said, looking with concern at John's head. "I think you may have a concussion."

"I'm fine," John said, "I know what a concussion feels like." He shrugged. "Plus, it's not like it's the first time, either."

Sherlock flinched at that. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt John. It made him feel a passionate anger he was hitherto unfamiliar with.

"I'll go put the light on for Harry," Mrs. Holmes said, observing the need of the two boys to talk in private.

Sherlock thanked his mother with a nod and turned his full attention to his boyfriend.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to go to the dance," John frowned, staring at their entwined hands. "You look very handsome."

Sherlock sniffed back tears again.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm just glad you came here and that you're okay."

"More or less," John said, shifting his seat.

Sherlock looked around to make sure they were alone. He saw and heard no sign of his family in the vicinity. He leaned in to John.

"I can't even imagine what this must be like for you," Sherlock said, lightly stroking John's hair. "But I am here. I will always be here. No matter what."

John looked into those amazing blue eyes and believed him. He felt so safe in those eyes. It was a safety he had only ever created for Harry, but never felt for himself.

"Sherlock-" he started.

"I love you," Sherlock said. His voice was low and absolute. It was as if he had recited a fact that had been written in textbooks for hundreds of years. John's heart fluttered. He leaned in to Sherlock and their foreheads touched.

"I love you too," he said.

The calmness of the moment was interrupted with the sound of the doorbell. Harry had arrived and was hysterical to see John in such a state. Mrs. Holmes managed to calm her down. She made a quick dinner for which John was not the least bit hungry for. That night they made up the guest room for Harry and decided to figure everything out in the morning. John stayed with Sherlock, an unspoken agreement among everyone.

Sherlock led John into his room and closed the door. They were still in their fancy dress, even though it felt ridiculous now. He walked over and sat on the bed while John meandered around the room. Sherlock tilted his head questioningly as John made his way to the record player and put on a slow song. He turned around and extended his hand to Sherlock.

"Don't be silly," Sherlock smiled. "You need to rest."

"One dance won't kill me," John smiled. "And it certainly won't kill you."

Sherlock smiled even wider and accepted John's open hand. Together they swayed, bodies in perfect synchrony. Their foreheads pressed lightly together and their chests met, so they were dancing heart to heart.

John kissed Sherlock lightly and all previously expressed sentiments were within it.

They danced like that, close and smooth, for the entire song. When it ended John removed the needle from the record and smiled.

The boys undressed. Sherlock had to help John because of the soreness in his arms. Finally they were both ready to sleep, though Sherlock was not sure he'd be able to.

They lay together in Sherlock's bed, John's head on his chest, in silence. Sherlock's breathing was slow and steady but he was not sleepy at all.

John held on to Sherlock as if he were a life raft in the ocean. However, John's eyes soon grew heavy with the weight of the happenings of the evening.

"I love you, Sherlock," was the last thing he whispered before falling asleep.

 


	11. Chapter 11

When John woke up, Sherlock was holding him tightly, as he had been all night. He lifted his head slowly and saw that his boyfriend was staring at the ceiling, thinking hard about something.

"Morning, love," John whispered as he stretched his limbs out.

The movement and John's voice stirred Sherlock out of his meditative state.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, his blue eyes devouring John's every facial expression.

"I'm fine," John lied. He started to get out of bed, but felt Sherlock's arm stop him.

"I know that's not true," Sherlock stated. John sighed. Why had he even tried to lie?

"Come on, let's go get some breakfast or something," John said, avoiding the confrontation.

He knew that Sherlock only wanted to know what was going on in his head, but even John didn't know. He was so confused. The abuse had persisted over the years, but there was still the weird, nagging sense of family that he felt. Sometimes, he thought, his loyalty was his biggest fault. The man constantly abused him and yet he still called him his father. John shook his head, trying to clear the irritating thoughts.

Sherlock grabbed his hand and led him downstairs where Mr. Holmes was in the kitchen, frying up some breakfast for them. Alongside Mrs. Holmes at the table sat Harry, who had made it there just after the boys went to bed.

John ran to Harry and hugged her. She held him for some time and the two shared a glance that Sherlock was sure he had never shared with Mycroft.

John took a seat at Mrs. Holmes' hand's request and Sherlock followed.

"Good morning, John," Mrs. Holmes greeted him. "Sherlock," she added, nodding towards her son.

"Morning, Mrs. H," John said, still holding on to Harry's hand. "Thanks again... erm... for last night," he muttered.

"Speak no more of it," she said. "You're family." She glanced at Harry, "All of you."

John and she shared a moment, and John tried to convey to her all that he felt. He was so grateful, to her and to her son, for everything they had done for him.

"John," she started, calmly but hesitantly, "I've arranged for someone to meet with you today."

Sherlock gave her a sharp look. He didn't like where this was headed. He felt a sudden need to jump in front of John and protect him from whatever was coming his way.

"I have a friend in social services. She's stopping by today, to try to help out, if that's okay with you.

John looked at Harry and then felt his own bruised face.

"Sure," he said. "Thanks."

Mrs. Holmes simply nodded as Mr. Holmes came over to the table with their breakfast. No more was spoken during the breakfast as everyone seemed to be in the mood for quiet meditation. John felt for Sherlock's hand under the table and he accepted it with warmth and love.

A knock at the door signaled that breakfast would be over and the days happenings would have to commence. A woman by the name of Frankie Chartwell came into the room. She had a kind smile, but sad eyes.

Sherlock positioned himself unconsciously in front of John and held his hand.

"John? Harry?" Frankie addressed the Watsons.

John nodded and stepped around Sherlock. Sherlock blinked and realized he was in the way. He let go of John's hand reluctantly so he could shake Frankie's hand.

"Should we go somewhere more comfortable and talk alone?" She suggested to John.

"He stays with me," John stated, gesturing to Sherlock. This was not a request.

Frankie assessed John for a moment and nodded. She beckoned him to lead the way. They chose Mr. Holmes' study room, a small room filled to the brim with books and stacks of paper.

They all settled down and Frankie wasted no time getting down to business.

"I wanted to speak to you first, John, as you seem to be at the front of the abuse, rather than Harry. Do you have somewhere else you can stay? Relatives nearby?"

"No," John shook his head.

"Okay," she said, writing down something on a notepad. "Are you eighteen?"

"Yes," John said. He had just turned eighteen a few months ago.

"Okay well there's a lot of legal stuff we'll have to talk about in terms of Harry, but we can save that for later. How are you doing with all this?"

"I'm alright," John lied. "Nothing new, really. Just a bit more intense."

Sherlock squeezed his hand.

"And you haven't seen your father since last night?"

"No ma'am."

"Okay good. I would try to keep a distance for a while, until the charges are laid."

"Charges?" John asked, starting to stand. Sherlock took his arm and guided him back to the chair.

"Well, yes, this was domestic abuse."

"But he's my dad," John stated, a tear building up in his eye.

"I realize this can be hard but--"

"John, he _hurt_ you," Sherlock whispered, with more anger than he probably should have. Maybe John could forget because he didn't have to look at the bruises all the time. But Sherlock did have to, and it hurt him more than it hurt John.

"I know, but..." John's mind was racing. Why was he defending his father? There was no good reason. "Maybe he didn't mean to. He was just drunk-"

"No, John," Frankie said, "This is just who he is. And now he has to pay for it."

Sherlock was in total agreement but John just couldn't process what was happening to him. Wasn't there some time in their life when their dad had been alright? He must have loved John at some point, right? John's head was spinning. It wasn't easy for him to change loyalties. Not that he had been particularly loyal to his father in recent years. But there's something about familial ties that you can't quite ever break.

John stood up and let go of Sherlock's hand. He left the room and headed towards the front door. All he could think was to get outside. He needed air.

Sherlock was quick to follow, breathing heavily and trying not to judge John too quickly. He needed more evidence before making a conclusion.

John made it outside and kept walking, Sherlock right on his heels. He wanted to stop John, but didn't know how. Somehow, he felt that this might be what John needed. He knew where he was headed.

John walked all the way to his driveway. He was so caught off guard, being on autopilot, that he didn't notice his father smoking in the front lawn. But Sherlock did.

"So this is the poof, huh?" Mr. Watson said, looking at John and then Sherlock. He spat out of the side of his mouth.

John looked up as if he had been in a trance. His bruised face had no effect on his father.

"What?" John asked, anger building inside him.

Sherlock stepped in front of John.

"Fuckin twinks, get off my fuckin lawn," Mr. Watson yelled at his son. "Where's your whore sister?" he added.

John's face was beat red. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. He had a look of murder in his eyes. It scared Sherlock to see John to violent again, but he didn't back away. Sherlock kept himself between them, but John was fuming, he had no chance if John were to charge.

He placed his hands on John's shoulders, and suddenly John's expression changed. His eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed. He took a deep breath and looked into Sherlock's eyes.

"Let's go," Sherlock said in a low whisper.

"John!" Mr. Watson yelled, flicking his cigarette.

John looked at his father and again into Sherlock's eyes. He unclenched his fists and started to move backwards.

They walked together, the two boys, hand in hand, while Mr. Watson narrowed his eyes and puffed on his cigarette.

John was breathing deeply, in and out, in very controlled segments. Sherlock watched him nervously, but proudly. He knew it took a lot for John to forget something he was angry about.

Halfway back to Sherlock's house, John stopped walking.

"Hey," he said to Sherlock, turning to face him. "There's something I should say."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Sherlock said.

"No, I do, listen. I don't have a lot of people that love me. Or that I love," John started. "It's hard for me to trust people. I trusted my dad. I thought that maybe that's what love was. But I was wrong, Sherlock. I was so wrong."

John had taken both of Sherlock's hands into his and was staring at them. John had never looked so beautiful to Sherlock before. His heart opened for John like a gaping wound.

"John, I--"

"No, please," John smiled, a tear starting to form. "I... I seriously shudder to think, when I see my dad and everything, just all the horrible things I could be... If I never had loved you." He swallowed hard and turned his gaze up towards Sherlock's face.

They stood in silence for a moment in the morning sun. It felt like a week since breakfast and the two boys held that stare for another eternity before Sherlock broke it.

He leaned in and kissed John with all the passion he cold muster. He wrapped his arms around his rugby captain, and John clung to his ballerina.

They held each other. They held each other together; saved each other from falling apart.

"I love you" was all Sherlock could bare to whisper to John in that moment.

They stayed like that for some time before separating. The world was waiting for them, perhaps a bit brighter now. John's face would heal. And Sherlock would help with the rest of the healing after that. It would just take time. But they both knew, they had their entire lives for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"I shudder to think of all the horrible things I could be/If I never had loved you" parts of that line is taken from a Quiet Company song called "If You Want"*


	12. Chapter 12

With all the commotion within John's life, neither of the boys had been able to focus on their respective passions. John had skipped some rugby practices and Sherlock had deserted his ballet flats, both in a quest to find stability in their lives.

Now that John had moved in with his grandparents, things were settling down a bit. Grandma and Grandpa Watson lived in the same neighborhood as Sherlock, for which John and Sherlock were both grateful. The elder Watsons had taken John in immediately following John's disowning of his father. They were a kind old couple who accepted John for everything he was and wasn't.

Seeing as this arrangement provided Harry with a safe space as well, John had continued spending some nights with Sherlock. John had started having nightmares when he was away from Sherlock. He described the events in the dreams quite vividly. They often involved his father committing acts of extreme violence either to John or, more disturbingly, to Sherlock. John would wake up in a sweat and scared out of his mind. When he was with Sherlock, though, he slept peacefully. The security provided by his ballet dancer was something that no prescription could match.

Having found some peace in their lives, the boys started to return to their activities. Both Rugby practice and Sherlock's rehearsal time were right after school now, so they could practice and then head home together for the evening.

On this particular afternoon, Sherlock was late meeting John at their usual spot by the front doors of the school. John shivered outside. He had given Sherlock his rugby jacket a long time ago and his dancer had refused to wear any other coat. John didn't mind being a little chilly. It was worth it to see his boyfriend wearing a coat two sizes too big for him. John chuckled at the mental image. He tapped his foot impatiently and then decided he better go see what was taking Sherlock so long today.

He made his way towards the studio quickly. This was actually a treat, he thought. He hadn't seen Sherlock dance in way too long. He took his time at the small window in the door, just watching. His heart sang with every graceful movement. That was _his_ dancer. That beautiful form was going home with him. Would make love to him. Would hold him. Would save him.

John sighed and opened the door. They'd be late for dinner at his grandparents if he let himself watch too long. Expecting Sherlock to immediately turn when he heard the door, John was surprised when his entrance went unnoticed. He shut the door quietly behind him. He glanced around the room and saw Sherlock's bag, a full bottle of water, and an untouched sandwich. He hadn't taken a break to eat or drink anything since practice started two hours ago. John shook his head and glanced back to Sherlock's spinning form. Sherlock was so focused on his dancing he didn't hear or see John. The yellowing light of the sun streamed through the windows and illuminated his every curve. John moved closer to Sherlock and waited for him to slow. When he entered a plié, John took the opportunity to step behind him, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist and burying his head in Sherlock's shoulders.

He felt Sherlock stiffen at first, having not expected the touch. He came out of his trance and looked at John in the mirror in front of them.

"Oh, hello," Sherlock stammered out. Clearly quite surprised.

"Hello," John mumbled, kissing Sherlock's soft neck. "Are you ready? We're going to be late."

"What's the time-- Oh!" Sherlock noted the late time on the clock. "Sorry, I... I didn't realize."

John felt his tense shoulders and pulled away, turning Sherlock to face him. Sherlock's eyes were full of worry. John couldn't stand it.

"What's wrong, love?" John asked tentatively.

"Nothing, it's fine."

"Come on," John gave him a crooked smile.

Sherlock couldn't resist that smile or those eyes. He took a hand and felt John's hair. Familiar, nice.

"I just have a big recital coming up. I don't think I'm ready."

"Why not? You're the best dancer I know!" John said proudly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm the only dancer you know."

"Doesn't make my statement any less true," John smiled, trying to make Sherlock laugh. He succeeded.

"Well, you may think highly of me, but I know I need a lot of work. And I just haven't had time to practice lately..." He trailed off.

John's face fell. That was because of him. Because of his screwed up life. Sherlock noticed his face and quickly tried to fix it.

"It's not your fault, John."

"It is though, I'm so sorry."

"I wanted to help, I needed to be with you. I would sacrifice anything for that, even dancing." Sherlock smiled softly at his rugby player.

John looked unconvinced so Sherlock kissed him, running his hands along John's neck.

"I would do anything for you, you know that."

John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, confirming that it was mutual.

"Well, I want you to take care of yourself, Sherlock." John said, motioning to the untouched sandwich and water. Sherlock shrugged.

"I just forgot, I guess."

"Well, good thing I'm here then," John smiled, stooping to pick up the water. "At least drink something. We can fill you up at Grandma's house."

Sherlock nodded and took the water, kissing John's cheek before opening it.

"When's the recital?" John asked.

"Next week," Sherlock said between gulps of water.

"What can I do to help you?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"I can do whatever you need. Skip practice, skip school, kill somebody, rob a bank," John added the last two for another laugh from his boyfriend.

"You don't have to," Sherlock smiled.

"I want to though," John said, pulling Sherlock close again. "I want to because I love you. Now, what can I do to help?"

Sherlock pondered this for a moment before landing another kiss on John's thin lips.

"Can you come to a practice or two before the recital?" He asked. "I think I dance better when you're here."

"Of course," John smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

"Thanks," Sherlock blushed.

The two packed up Sherlock's bag and made for the door. John insisted on carrying his and Sherlock's bag. Unnecessary chivalry, Sherlock thought, but he smiled all the same as he dawned his boyfriend's jacket.

They walked to John's car and drove to Grandma Watson's house. Entering the door, they could smell the dinner that awaited them. It was a hearty meal of steak and potatoes.

Harry was already seated at the table, texting or doing something with her phone. She didn't bother looking up when the boys entered. But Mrs. Watson came towards them and gave each boy a kiss on the forehead. Her gray hair brushed Sherlock's forehead and made him giggle.

"My boys," she sighed, as she did every time they came over together. She looked so proud and happy of them. She turned back and went towards the kitchen to tend to the meal.

"Earth to Harry," John waved a hand close to his sister's face. She pushed it away in jest and looked up.

"Hi," she said, rolling her eyes. "What are you losers up to today?"

Sherlock had always admired their relationship. He and Mycroft never joked around. This was probably what ordinary siblings did to interact with each other. John laughed and answered her.

"Not much, just dinner and a movie probably," he said.

"Lame."

"Yeah well, I don't know what you want from us," John smiled, looking at Sherlock. "We're just in looooove," he said, kissing Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock blushed profusely.

"Gross," Harry said, but smiled. She really did love seeing her brother happy.

Mrs. Watson called upstairs and Mr. Watson came down to join them. They all sat around the table.

"Would you like to say grace?" She asked her husband. Mr. Watson smiled and squeezed his wife's hand.

"Lord, thank you for this food and for our company. Bless these kids and continue to allow them safe passage through their lives. Let them only know love-"

John squeezed Sherlock's hand and eyed him from his bowed head's position. Sherlock squeezed back.

"Happiness, and peace," he finished. Everyone "Amen-ed" and tucked their napkins into their laps.

Sherlock smiled and talked easily with John's family during the meal. It was so easy to be with them. Sherlock was so grateful to John's grandparents for providing John with a loving home. A loving home was something Sherlock would never take for granted again, even if he and Mycroft didn't quite see eye to eye sometimes.

After the meal, they all settled down to watch a film. Sherlock and John shared a loveseat and snuggled under a blanket. Sherlock had not taken off John's rugby jacket, as was quite common for him nowadays.

After the film, John's grandparents said goodnight and headed upstairs. Harry followed soon after, warning the boy to wrap it before they tapped it and then giggling at her own statement.

John shook his head in mock annoyance and watched her leave.

"I should probably head home," Sherlock said, noting the time. "Early day tomorrow."

"Yeah..." John said. Sherlock could see the dread in John's eyes.

"You can sleep over again if you want," Sherlock said, kissing John's forehead. "You can sleep over every night."

John's heart wanted to scream yes but another part stayed solid. No. He needed to face his demons alone. He needed to be rid of the fear that still clutched at him, even though the source was nowhere near.

He gave Sherlock's hand a quick squeeze.

"I think I'll try it on my own tonight," John forced himself to say. "I need to get over this."

Sherlock looked doubtfully into the eyes of the man he loved. Why did John have to have the heart of a soldier?

"You're so brave... All the time."

John just shrugged. It was something he had just demanded of himself his whole life. He would be dead without that mindset.

Sherlock looked deep into his eyes.

"You don't have to be," he whispered.

John closed his eyes and tried not to cry or break his resolve. As much as he wanted to follow Sherlock home and feel safe and secure, he couldn't let himself. He had to be strong and this was a weakness. It must be dealt with.

He explained this to Sherlock and sadly ushered him towards the door. They shared a lingering goodnight kiss as Sherlock made his way out, self professedly wanting to walk home the short distance instead of going to the trouble of being driven.

John said goodnight once more to his dancer, and Sherlock bade goodnight to his soldier.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you guys for all the lovely comments :) it's quite encouraging and I'm glad you're enjoying it!

It was just about the same dream every night now.

 _John would wade through a crowd of people on his lawn and struggled to get into his house. Once inside he knew he was supposed to be looking for something but he was never sure until he opened his bedroom door. Inside he would see Sherlock, on the ground. At first, John's heart always beat faster out of love and excitement. But soon it would grow heavy and ferocious as he realized that Sherlock was bleeding. John would look up an_ d _see his father, taller than he_ _was in real life, standing over Sherlock with the most menacing smile on his face. He would hold a bloody belt above his head and make to bring it down upon Sherlock's now exposed back. John would try and run to Sherlock but his feet would be glued to the ground. He couldn't pull his eyes from the sight of the belt slashing Sherlock's elegant shoulders. SLASH SLASH, THWACK. John would cry out to Sherlock that he was coming, but no noise would be made. Instead John could clearly hear Sherlock's cries of anguish, his father's grunts, and the sound of the belt hitting flesh._

John would wake up in a cold sweat and hug his knees to his chest while his body convulsed in pained sobs. He tried as hard as he could to muffle his crying, but he was sure Harry could hear him in the next room. He was just grateful she didn't confront him about them.

John hadn't slept in a week - since he told Sherlock he needed to learn how to handle this on his own. John was ashamed. Here he was, a big rugby player, and he was scared of his own subconscious. It was ridiculous. He couldn't very well feel he deserved to be happy if he couldn't face his demons. And that meant that he didn't deserve Sherlock. John knew it was probably skewed logic, but it made sense to him. Be brave, and you'll deserve him. For some reason John had never felt he had deserved what Sherlock had brought him. Perhaps it was his father who had always instilled in him that he wasn't worthy of love, John mused, putting his intro to psych class to work. He shrugged it off. It didn't matter. He still needed to get over this. How could he protect Sherlock in real life if he couldn't even do it in an imagined world?

John jumped in the shower and went downstairs to get breakfast. He still had a few hours before Sherlock's recital. Standing at the coffee maker, he closed his eyes. The next thing he knew he was slumped over the counter listening to the beeping noise from the machine. Had he just fallen asleep standing up? These sleepless nights were really getting to him. He poured his coffee and put some extra sugar in it for good measure. He grabbed his toast and sat at the table.

A familiar thumping came from the stairs and John looked up to see Harry, bed-headed and sleepy, galumphing down the stairs towards the kitchen.

"Morning," he offered.

"Mfph" was all she could reply in her semi-conscious state. Harry was not a morning person.

John just smiled and sipped his coffee. Harry went over to the machine and looked at John with a eyebrow arched.

"Thirsty?" she asked, pointing to the nearly empty pot.

"Just trying to stay awake," John muttered, turning over the newspaper.

Harry brought over her breakfast and sat across from John. Her face had taken on one of a more serious countenance.

"How many nights have you _actually_ slept?" she asked.

John wasn't surprised since she'd heard his screams and cries in the night. She probably wasn't sleeping too well either because of him. Still, John marveled at his sister. She could be insensitive and youthfully distant, but she did care about him.

"Umm.... Probably like 2 combined," John estimated. He'd gotten about two hours each night for the week.

"Jesus," Harry shook her head, taking a bite of cereal. "Where's Sherlock, anyway?" she added.

"I told him I needed to figure this out on my own," John responded.

"That's dumb. You sleep better with him, I know it."

"That's not the point-"

"Whatever, dummy," Harry sighed, clearly done with her portion of caring for the morning. She picked up her cereal and left the table. John finished his breakfast as well and went upstairs to get dressed. On the way downstairs he ran into Harry again.

"Can I ask you a favor?" he asked tentatively.

"Depends."

"Would you mind driving me to Sherlock's recital? I'm not confident I can get there without.... falling asleep." John put on his most pathetic face.

Harry considered him for a moment.

"Fine," she shrugged. "I don't have anything better to do anyway."

John thanked his sister and continued downstairs. He watched TV until it was time for the recital. He went to the vase on the counter and wrapped the flowers he had gotten to give Sherlock later.

He and Harry got into the car and Harry suddenly brought up their previous conversation again.

"I don't get it, John," she started.

"Get what?"

"Why you do this to yourself. You've always done this, put yourself in unnecessary straights to prove something. You don't need to prove anything."

"You don't understand," was John's only defense.

"Yes I do," she countered. "You think that what dad did was your fault. And believe me, I felt that way for a long time too. But it's not. And just because it still affects you doesn't make you weak. It actually makes you stronger. I'd be afraid if you weren't still working through some stuff."

John looked again with an awe at his sister.

"When did you become so insightful?" he asked, smirking. He was still processing what she had said to him.

"Since I started seeing the guidance counselor twice a week."

John gave a surprised smile. He was glad she was getting help.

"Oh," he said. "That's good. And... I don't know... I just always dream that he's hurting Sherlock. He still tortures me even though he's not around. And it's worse than anything he ever did to me..."

"Well blocking Sherlock out isn't going to help," she muttered, pulling into the parking lot.

John shrugged and played with the array of flowers. They parked and went inside, snagging seats in the front row.

"Hit me if I fall asleep," John whispered.

Then his breath caught as he saw Sherlock. He was wearing a new, purple leotard. It fit him perfectly. John couldn't help but stare and Sherlock caught him and winked. John blushed and Harry made a gagging sound. John shoved her playfully and she laughed.

Sherlock was second to last in the recital. Most of the dancers were fine, but John felt his eyelids get rather heavy throughout. Once Sherlock was up, he tried his best to remain focused. Sherlock's routine was flawless, John thought. He had had no reason to be nervous. It looked as though he were floating on air instead of twirling on the ground. The lines that his body made were smooth and seamless. The whole thing was over too quickly and John mentally patted himself on the back for staying awake. During the final performance, with the slowest music John had ever heard, he lost it. His head slumped over and he felt Harry shaking him a few minutes later. The recital was over and Harry had been nudging John for some time now.

Sherlock approached the two just in time for John to wake up.

With a sleepy smile, John presented Sherlock with the bouquet. Sherlock blushed and told him he shouldn't have. He stuck his nose in the flowers and breathed in their scent and then gave his boyfriend quite the kiss.

"You were wonderful," John beamed.

"Thank you," Sherlock smiled.

"It was alright," Harry smirked. Sherlock stuck out his tongue.

John started to sway and Sherlock put his hand on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked. John wasn't about to answer.

"He hasn't slept in a week," Harry answered for him.

John started to protest but he could see Sherlock's eyes raking over his body, deducing that this was in fact true.

"Come over here," Sherlock said, dragging John to a deserted corner of the recital room. "Why haven't you been sleeping? Nightmares still?"

John nodded, unable to explain further. Sherlock took John's hand.

"Why don't you come stay with me?" he asked.

John could feel Harry's eyes from across the room. He hoped people weren't paying attention to them as he was likely to start crying any minute now.

"I don't know," John professed. His chest felt tight. "I want to protect you," was all he could think to say.

"From what? nothing's going to harm me," Sherlock said.

"In my dream," John's voice hitched. "My dad... hurts you."

Sherlock nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"And it's awful and I can't stop it."

"But he doesn't do that in real life," Sherlock said. "So it doesn't matter, John. Plus, he's not hurting you."

"But he is," John protested. "He's hurting me by hurting you. In my dream he knows that the only thing that will _truly_ hurt me is anything done to hurt you." John couldn't stop the tear from rolling down his cheek. "It's worse than anything he's done to me in the past. And the thing is is that it seems so real when I'm in it. And I just want to _kill_ him. I want to _strangle_ him with my bare hands because anyone that even comes _close_ to hurting you deserves that punishment and worse. I know that he's always wanted to destroy any chance I had at love in any form. He never loved me and he didn't want me to love anyone either."

John's chest felt a little looser but his breaths still came in sharp inhales. Sherlock's eyes were watery now too as he listened to John's confession in their little corner.

"Didn't," Sherlock observed. "Past tense. That part of your life is over now."

John stopped and realized that he was right. He hadn't even realized he'd used past tense. He wiped his tear away.

"You're right," he said. "Because I do love somebody now. He doesn't have control over that anymore. Because I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled and let out a laugh to stop himself from crying. He hugged John and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you," John added.

"For what, exactly?" Sherlock asked sincerely.

"For saving me," John said matter-of-factly.

Sherlock lost it then and allowed himself to cry a little. The boys just held each other closer and felt a relief flow between them.

"I'm sorry for making a scene at your recital," John said into Sherlock's curls.

"Who cares," Sherlock responded. "No one matters but us right now."

John pulled away to gaze over at Harry. She was talking to one of the female dancers. She was playing with her hair and touching the girl's arm. John smiled. They would both be okay, he thought. She would find someone too. They would be okay.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock had grown used to waking up with a blond tuft of hair in his face. John started sleeping over almost every night. Because of John's family situation, Sherlock's parents saw nothing wrong with the arrangement. In their defense, it wasn't as if one of them was going to get pregnant or anything. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were simply glad that their son had found someone to love and that John was safe.

And John did feel safe. Although he had told himself over and over that he had to be brave, with Sherlock he realized that he didn't have to be brave alone. Staying nights with his boyfriend didn't totally erase the nightmares but it helped significantly. And when John would wake up in a cold sweat, Sherlock was there to stroke his hair and calm him down. Luckily Harry was finding it more comfortable at their grandparents' house. John at least didn't have to worry as much about her, or at least leaving her home alone with his grandparents.

John was so grateful to have Sherlock in his life and thanked his stars that he dropped his rugby bag that day outside the studio. He hadn't thought it possible to rely so much on one person. The first morning after John had decided to start staying over, he had had to talk about it with Sherlock.

"It feels like I'm not facing the issue," John had said one morning while they lay with their bare bodies pressed warmly against each other.

"Why's that?" Sherlock asked, his eyes closed, drawing lazy patterns on John's skin.

"Because I'm hiding with you instead of facing my demons," John replied.

"How do you intend to do that then? Face your demons," Sherlock asked.

"I don't know," John sighed. And he didn't. Short of some kind of miraculous conversation with his father, he doubted whether he'd ever totally be free of the man psychologically.

"We all have demons," Sherlock said, almost to himself.

"What are yours?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock from where he had placed his chest.

Sherlock peeked an eye open and peered down at John. His heart fluttered at the sight of John's eyes gazing up at him. He closed his eyes and resumed his meditative state.

"I don't know," he began. "I suppose doubt."

"But you're smarter than Einstein," John laughed. "What would you doubt?"

 _Myself_ , Sherlock thought, but said nothing. Instead he shrugged. John let it slide. He hoped it wasn't their relationship that plagued Sherlock with doubt. He shook the thought away and snuggled closer to his ballerina.

"Will you come watch me play today?" John asked, not sure if Sherlock was still awake.

"Of course," Sherlock replied. 

"Good. I play better when you're there," John smiled. "And I think Alby will be there so you two can be our cheer section," he added.

Sherlock smiled. It would be nice having Alby with him to cheer on their boyfriends. Maybe he'd even dress for the occasion.

"Ugh, I should probably get up," John muttered. But he felt Sherlock tighten his arm around him. "No really, Sherlock, I need to start getting ready and whatnot."

Sherlock huffed and opened his eyes. He looked down at John and never wanted him to leave. However John seemed insistent so he moved his arm and John rose from the bed. Sherlock made no effort to hide his stare as John leaned over to grab his pants. He didn't even blush when John turned around to wink at him. It was funny, he thought, how far they'd come in so little time. How intimate they'd become. It was as if they'd always known each other in all lifetimes. Every lifetime just slightly different. Sherlock laughed at the thought of the two of them in Victorian garb, running around London; or perhaps they were incarnated as animals in another life. John would be a hedgehog, Sherlock mused.

He shook his head to clear such thoughts away. Never before had his immense brain been distracted by so many seemingly superfluous thoughts.

"I'll see you at 1 then," John smiled, having dressed while Sherlock was thinking.

"See you then," Sherlock responded and rolled back over to sleep some more. When he felt like it, he got up and went downstairs.

He found Mycroft sitting at the kitchen table alone. His parents must have gone out, he thought. Mycroft sat in his perfectly pressed suit, reading the paper and sipping some tea. He laid down the paper when he heard Sherlock step up.

"Late night?" Mycroft asked, since Sherlock didn't usually sleep this late in the morning.

"Not really," Sherlock deflected.

"John's staying over a lot lately," he said, turning his gaze back to his paper. Sherlock went to grab some breakfast from the kitchen.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. He brought over a bowl of cereal and sat down facing Mycroft but gazed out the window.

"You should be careful," Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow.

"About what?" Sherlock didn't try to block his food-filled mouth when he spoke. Mycroft shuddered and Sherlock smiled internally.

"About him."

"Thanks for the advice. I'm all set though."

"You must know what kind of guy John is," Mycroft said softly.

"I know he's nice and fun and loves me," Sherlock retorted.

"For now."

"For always."

"For now," Mycroft restated. "He's not the type to stay in one place too long. You'll see."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he's a flirt. He'll get bored with you and move on. And then where will you be? I'm just looking out for you, Sherlock."

"He will not," Sherlock spat. He felt heat rise to his cheeks. John wouldn't get bored of him, would he?

"He will. And when he does you'll be alone again. I know you care for this boy but please, Sherlock. Caring is not an advantage. All things end."

"No," Sherlock said with as much confidence as he could muster as he stood up. He dropped his bowl in the sink and walked back towards Mycroft. "John's not like that."

Mycroft merely shrugged. "We will see," he mused, picking up the paper and turning the page.

Sherlock stormed off back upstairs. John wouldn't do anything like that... would he? Sherlock thought about all the girls John had been with. Was he merely experimenting with Sherlock? Would he indeed get bored and move on? What if another boy more attractive and smarter came along? What would stop John from dumping Sherlock? Sherlock suddenly felt the need to sit down. What would he do if John ever left him? Just thinking about it made it feel as though a piece of his heart were missing.

He tried to shake the feeling and focus on the days events. He texted Alby and they made plans to meet up before the game. Sherlock put on their school colors and John's rugby jacket. He even painted his face red, Alby would be gold. Together they found flags to wave and decided it was better to go all out and look foolish and have a good time than to go half-heartedly. Since watching their boys play they had at least found some fun in watching a sport they hadn't beforehand.

When they arrived at the game and found their seats in the bleachers, it took Sherlock less than ten seconds to locate John. He smiled at first but faltered when he looked closer. Perhaps he wouldn't have realized it or noticed it had it not been for his conversation with Mycroft earlier, but John seemed... very flirty. The school's cheerleaders had come to the game and John was sitting in between two of them on the bench. He had his arm around one's shoulders and was laughing very hard at something the other one said. When one on his teammates pointed in Sherlock's direction, John swiveled to look. Finding Sherlock he unwrapped his arm from the girl to wave and wink. A lump caught in Sherlock's throat. He hoped that he was just feeling jealous because of his tainted conversation with Mycroft but his heart still felt heavy. Could John ever belong to him? Really?

John had turned his attention back to his team and Sherlock looked to Alby to distract him. During the game, Sherlock focused on the plays and strategies instead of how John celebrated with his team or winked at the cheerleaders. He was just over analyzing as usual, he thought.

After the game, Sherlock strayed over to the field to see his boyfriend. John jogged right over to him and caught Sherlock by surprise when he grabbed him by the waist and dipped him, planting a light kiss on his lips. Sherlock giggled and John righted him.

"Congratulations," Sherlock smiled. Most of the doubt he had held was washed away as he was swept away by John's kiss.

"Thanks babe," John grinned. He started loading his stuff into his bag. Alby had found Brad and they were talking by the bench.

"Want to get something to eat? Everyone's going out. Molly invited us," John added, pointing to one of the cheer leaders. The girl waved. She had mousy brown hair and eager eyes. Sherlock smiled at her, she seemed nice enough.

"Sure," Sherlock said. "Let me just wipe the paint off my face in the bathroom."

"Nonsense," John smirked. "I like you in my colors!" Sherlock blushed.

"Fine," he laughed.

With John's arm around his waist, he felt almost normal again. But there was a part in his brain somewhere that still held the words Mycroft had spoken earlier. _Caring is not an advantage._

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the love :) your comments and kudos mean so much to me! and don't worry, I'll post the next (resolve) chapter later today/tomorrow cuz there's angst ahead in this one.

Sherlock had been looking forward to having a class with John and now it would finally happen. Their two science classes had merged because one of the teachers had gone off to have a baby. John held Sherlock's hand as they walked to class together. Sherlock tried to remain cheerful, but there was still that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was all too easy. Everything with John had been too easy - well, not the actual stuff they had gone through - but being with John. He was starting to worry that something was about to go terribly wrong. Sherlock shook the thought away as John squeezed his hand, giving him a questioning glance.

"Sorry, I was miles away," Sherlock said.

"Thinking about class already?" John smiled. He knew that wasn't it, but didn't want to press it. He had no idea what was going on in his ballerina's head. It worried him that Sherlock hadn't shared it too.

"Will you be my lab partner?" Sherlock asked, trying to avoid any further questions about his thoughts.

"If you'll have me," John joked. Sherlock smiled and tried to focus.

They walked into the class. It was filled with familiar faces for John, while Sherlock only recognized his half of the class, and barely that. He saw Molly, the brown-haired girl, in the back.He had never been one to ask for a lab partner, rather the opposite. It was quicker and easier if he worked alone. He wondered if that principle applied to his life as well.

John and Sherlock chose seats next to each other and got all their things ready. The teacher, a strict-looking, gray haired, man stood at the front of the class.

"Alright, there are a lot of you in this impromptu class so here are the partners," he announced. Sherlock and John shared a worried glance. They had assumed they would be able to pick their own partners. The teacher listed off a few names and then got to Sherlock and John's. "Sherlock is with Molly, and John is with Mary..." he stated.

John gave Sherlock a sympathetic look before he moved to go sit with the young blonde girl. Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off John as he watched him go up to Mary and hug her. Apparently they were friends... or maybe not. Sherlock had to keep reminding himself that John was just extremely friendly. Sherlock jumped out of his skin when Molly put her books next to his.

"Sorry!" she said in her small voice. "Didn't mean to make you jump." Sherlock looked at her. He didn't know Molly other than the one night they had dinner with her after the game. She had seemed nice enough, but kind of nervous.

"It's fine," Sherlock muttered. His gaze drifted away again to stare at John and Mary. They were laughing about something and it made Sherlock's heart feel like it weighted about a hundred pounds.

"Didn't get to work with your boyfriend then?" Molly asked. Her eyes were soft and kind. She seemed to truly feel bad for Sherlock. "Well, I can't promise I'll be as fun," she smiled, "But I'll certainly try."

Sherlock gave her a weak nod. He felt like falling to pieces. It was just a random lab partner assignment, but he couldn't help feeling like there was a million miles between them instead of just a few desks.

"Trouble in paradise?" Molly asked, getting out some tubes.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You and John, I know you started going out together sort of recently" she said.

"And?"

"And... I don't know... You look sort of... sad... when you think he can't see you," she said, avoiding Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock had underestimated her. She was more observant than he thought.

"I do?" he asked. The vulnerability in his voice surprised even him. Thankfully, Molly had started their lab work since Sherlock seemed unable to function at the moment.

"Yeah, well... I notice that kind of thing," she said. "And I know what you're feeling."

"And what's that?"

"You're going to end it with him soon," she said, nonchalantly.

"What?"

"You're going to end it soon and break his heart, I can tell."

Sherlock shifted in his seat. He started playing with the test tubes until Molly snatched them away.

"You shouldn't do it," she stated. "You're good together."

"Maybe," Sherlock said. He certainly knew that John was good for him, but he seriously doubted if the opposite were true. He glanced back again to see John and Mary standing quite close to each other, smiling.

What if Sherlock couldn't make John smile like that for much longer? What if he didn't want Sherlock soon? What if John were to be happier with someone else?

Sherlock closed his eyes and shut that door of thought. He would deal with it later. Right now he could focus on something and get his mind off of it. He offered his assistance to Molly and they completed their lab before anyone else.

Sherlock waited outside the classroom for John as he exited with Mary.

"You finished so quickly!" John said, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's waist. "Thanks for waiting for us slow pokes," he joked, kissing Sherlock's cheek. Mary stood awkwardly in front of them. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mary, this is my boyfriend, Sherlock," he said, gesturing to the brunette beside him.

"It's nice to meet you," she said. Her voice was light but there was some kind of malice behind her eyes. "John's told me all about you."

"Oh?" the fact that Sherlock had come up in their conversation had never occurred to him.

"All good things," she assured him.

"Well, we best be off," John said. "I'll see you in class, Mary," he waved and the two walked out of the school.

"What should we do tonight?" John asked.

"Umm... I was thinking... I'd just like some time alone... if you don't mind," Sherlock said hesitantly.

"Oh... sure," John said, biting his lip. "Is something wrong?"

"No.. I'll call you later," Sherlock said quickly and broke away from John.

As he walked home alone, he wondered what John was thinking. Surely he was confused by Sherlock's odd behavior, but that couldn't be helped. When Sherlock got home, Mycroft was sitting at the table drinking tea.

"Ah, you haven't done it yet," Mycroft deduced.

"Done what?"

"Broken up with John of course. I can tell by the collar of your jacket-"

"Shut up, Mycroft."

This earned Sherlock a bemused grin from his brother.

"You'll be better off," he said.

So will he, Sherlock thought.

When he was upstairs in his room he found his hidden nicotine patches and slapped three of them on his arm. It was a bad habit, but it helped Sherlock to relax. He laid on his bed and thought about John. The logical answer to his feelings was to end it with John.

The first reason was selfish: eventually John would get tired of Sherlock and end it with him. There was no way Sherlock could hold someone like John's interest for very long. He might as well save his own feelings from that heartbreak and end it now. That way he could build up walls and keep everyone out. That way no one would hurt him. He would never have to look sad when he thought no one was looking.

The second reason was for John's own good. After seeing John with his team, and with Mary in the lab, Sherlock couldn't help but feel useless. What could he possibly offer John that no one else could? He was a dancer and a scientist. What good was he to anyone but himself? He thought that John deserved to much more than he could give. This outweighed the first reason by far. Sherlock would be doing what was best for John. He would be giving him the opportunity to be happy with someone who deserved him and could give him everything. Maybe if John were with Mary or someone like that, he could go back home and rebuild the relationship with his father. Maybe Mary would be more loving and less complicated than Sherlock.

Sherlock moved his hand to readjust his pillow and realized it was wet. He had been crying for some time without realizing it. Before he could change his mind, he called John and asked him to come over.

Soon enough John arrived and Sherlock solemnly brought him upstairs.

"What's going on?" John asked hesitantly. Sherlock forced the tears to stay in his eyes. He could not show John that this affected him.

"I think... we should break up," Sherlock said with as least amount of emotion as he could.

John just stood there, uncomprehending.

"What?"

"I don't think we should be together anymore."

"But we love each other," John's voice almost broke. What was happening here? Just the other day they had been fine. What had changed?

"No," Sherlock said, trying to sound cold.

John's face had contorted into a mixture of heartbreak and confusion. Sherlock looked away, trying to look disinterested. If he looked at John he would cry. And then John would say something to soften Sherlock's resolve. And he couldn't let that happen. Sherlock had to ensure that John was happy, even if it broke his own heart in the process.

"Please leave now," was all Sherlock can muster.

John was dumbfounded. He couldn't find any words to argue with. Where had this come from? He scolded himself. Maybe he was the one to blame. He had done something. He always did something to muck stuff up. It was happening again. Of course Sherlock would want to break up with him. Who would want him for a boyfriend?

Sherlock tried to keep his breathing steady. He only had to hold it together until John left the room. Then he could cry. He just had to wait. His fingers clenched together as hard as John's jaw.

John couldn't think of anything that could save this. If Sherlock didn't want him... he understood.

He turned to leave without saying goodbye. His hand was on the door. Everything was silent and he was prepared to exit the house, leaving Sherlock and everything they had worked towards behind. John's resolve was solid... until he heard a small sob escape from the brunette behind him.


	16. Chapter 16

John stopped everything. Sherlock froze. He hadn't meant for the sound to escape his lips. He hoped that John hadn't heard it. Of course it had been impossible to keep everything bottled up. John slowly turned to see Sherlock standing with his hand over his mouth.

"Did you just--"

"No," Sherlock's voice broke as he spoke. He couldn't keep it up any longer. He felt the hot tears run down his cheek and he turned from John. He felt warm arms wrap around him and felt John nuzzling his neck.

"You stupid git," John whispered. "You don't want to break up with me, I knew it."

John slowly pulled away and tucked one of Sherlock's loose curls behind his head. John's heart broke when he saw the red, tearful eyes of his boyfriend. He wiped away the tears that had fallen while Sherlock tried to hold back more that threatened to fall.

"What is the matter, my dancer?" John asked sweetly. Sherlock tried to pull away but John was not having that.

"You deserve better," Sherlock choked out. "I wanted to break up with you because I think you deserve someone who is more than... me," he said through sobs that wracked his small body.

"What?" John was completely caught off guard. "Why would you say that? We've been over this, remember?" he asked, quietly. "We both deserve to be happy. I know that I am happy with you," he said, trying to raise Sherlock's gaze to his own. "Are you happy with me?"

"Of course I am," Sherlock said, the words tumbling out of him. "But that doesn't matter. All that matters is that _you're_ happy, and I think that you could find that with someone else more... deserving."

John stepped back from Sherlock for a moment and thought. After a second he took off his shirt. Sherlock's eyes widened. What was he doing?

"Look at me," John commanded. Sherlock had no option but to comply. John's chest was solid and speckled with small scars.

"What are you doing?"

"Look at my body," John said, turning around so Sherlock could see his back. "Do you see any bruises or cuts?" he asked.

Sherlock assessed his rugby player.

"No," he sniffled. "So what?"

John gave him a patient smile.

"So, without you, I would have more bruises than I could count. Without you I would still be with my dad, thinking that his punches were love." John moved closer and put his arms around Sherlock's waist. "I would still think that this," he kissed Sherlock lightly on the lips, "Was wrong, when it's perfectly right." John moved his hand to draw a line down Sherlock's jaw. "Without you, I would be lonely and unloved. Without you, I would be lost."

Sherlock's eyes seemed a little brighter to John and he hoped he was breaking through to him.

"I don't know," Sherlock mumbled. "I don't think my life has that much of an impact on you..." he trailed off, clearly going to mumble some more nonsense but John cut him off.

"Hey," John said, capturing Sherlock's chin between his thumb and index finger. John directed Sherlock's attention to his eyes. "Your life is my life's best part."

John's heart lifted when he saw Sherlock's lips break into a smile.

"I mean it," John reaffirmed.

This time it was Sherlock who leaned in to kiss John. Suddenly he pulled away, remembering his other reason for trying to break up with John.

"But what if... What if something happens and one of us hurts the other?" Sherlock asked. Since John had quelled his other apprehension, he might be able to help with this one. "Wouldn't it be easier to just... well, not to risk it?" Sherlock's blue eyes were bigger than John had ever seen.

"Of course it would be easier," John laughed. "But it wouldn't matter. You and me, we have something really special here. And yeah, if we fuck up, it'll hurt. It would really hurt. But we won't," he ended with a smile.

"How do you know?"

"Because we mean too much to each other to let us fuck up. Like now, for instance," John smirked. "I knew you were being dumb, and I helped you see that."

"I'm not dumb!" Sherlock said in response out of reflex. Mycroft always called him that and the response was automatic. Sherlock blushed. "Sorry," he said. "Mycroft always says that to me."

"Mycroft's an idiot," John sighed. "But I'm serious. This, this thinking that someone else might make me happier, that was dumb. And when I thought I needed to handle everything on my own? That was dumb too but you called me out on it."

Sherlock was starting to see what he meant.

"So any time one of us f-fucks up," Sherlock said, tasting the swear that John had used, "The other will tell them... And we'll fix it?"

"Sounds like a deal to me," John smiled, pulling Sherlock closer.

"Okay," Sherlock said, starting to grin. "I'm sorry," he added.

"It's a good thing we're not both idiots at the same time," John joked.

"Indeed," Sherlock said.

He bit his lip and looked at John. How had he gotten so lucky? How had he expected John to simply accept what he had said and leave? Sherlock had reevaluated John. He had reevaluated himself too. It was obvious now. Sherlock valued the things that John deemed worthwhile. John deemed Sherlock worthwhile. Therefore, by the transitive property, it made sense that Sherlock was worthwhile too. This logical train of thought soothed him. He was valuable and worthwhile to John Watson, and, with the help of John's prodding, Sherlock realized, he was valuable to himself as well.

Sherlock sniffed and wiped the rest of his tears away with his sweater. He realized that John still had his shirt off.

"Do you want to get dressed?" Sherlock asked.

John looked down at his bare chest. "Not really," he replied.

Then he moved slowly, pulling Sherlock with him, towards the bed. Once they were standing in front of it, John lifted Sherlock up. He saw Sherlock's eyes widen at this sudden movement, but he wasted no time in wrapping his long legs around John's waist.

Sherlock was so light, John wondered how so much greatness could weigh almost nothing. Once Sherlock was securely in his grasp, he kissed him. Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair. John stumbled back, onto the bed and guided Sherlock on top of him. Their bodies could not possibly have been any closer. John's tongue explored Sherlock's mouth with a new found urgency. Small little moans escaped Sherlock's lips as the boys explored each others bodies.

This was so right, John thought. They couldn't keep their hands off each other and by the time they were through, they were sure that half the house must have heard their muffled noises. John sat up and leaned against the backrest that rested on the wall. Sherlock moved to curl up into his lap. The two boys held each other for a long time without speaking. Finally John broke the silence.

"I love you, Sherlock. I will always love you. I will always want you."

Sherlock looked up at his rugby player. John was incredibly handsome and from this angle, his jawline looked even more amazing.

"John," Sherlock said sleepily. "Your life is my life's best part too," he smiled softly before yawning. Between their recent activity and the emotional toll of the day, Sherlock was about to pass out. He let out a wide yawn.

He felt John sigh heavily and kiss the top of Sherlock's head.

"Sleep," John commanded.

Sherlock would have responded but he was already drifting away, safe, secure, and loved, in his John's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Your life is my life's best part" is taken from the Keaton Henson song, "You."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might try going in a little different direction for a bit... let me know what you think :)

Sherlock woke first, opening his sleeping eyes to the bright morning. He was thankful that they had had their little... domestic on a Friday because neither of them had bothered to set an alarm and would have been quite late for school.

Sherlock laid in John's arms, perfectly content to do nothing at all but breathe in his scent. He kept thinking about last night. How could Mycroft had gotten into his head like that? He should never have doubted him and John. In the end, it was probably the most sure thing there was in the world.

He listened to John's breathing but heard another sound. Surely his parents had left for work by now - Sherlock wondered why they didn't take weekends off - it must be Mycroft.

Sherlock smirked. As far as Mycroft knew, he has succeeded in showing Sherlock that caring was not an advantage. Well, he was about to get a fun surprise this morning.

Sherlock chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?" John asked, groggily.

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "I just realized that Mycroft is an idiot."

"I told you that last night," John mumbled.

"Yeah well, he's a bigger idiot than you think. He's the one that put the idea in my head that my feelings for you were a detriment."

"Well, remind me to spit in his tea," John said, sitting up in bed. Sherlock giggled.

"Shall we go downstairs and enjoy his look of quiet irritation?" Sherlock suggested. John nodded heartily.

The boys dressed and went downstairs. Sherlock put on the kettle and got out breakfast for them. They settled into kitchen chairs next to each other and waited. Sure enough, Mycroft came downstairs. Sherlock made a show of kissing John's cheek.

Mycroft looked at them, rolled his eyes, and went back upstairs.

The boys erupted in giggles.

"Has he always been like this?" John asked.

"Like what?"

"So... icy... unfeeling?"

Sherlock considered this. There was a time when his brother had seemed happier... but he couldn't remember why. It had been when Mycroft had gone onto the school above his, before Sherlock had joined him.

"I don't think so. I think he used to be happier... for a little while. Something happen though, I'm not sure what. It was a few years ago."

John thought about this for a while.

"Oh, you know what? I heard he was with someone for a while."

Sherlock nearly spat out his tea.

"With someone?"

"Yeah," John said. "Gavin or Geoff or something like that."

"Greg?" Sherlock asked. He recalled Mycroft mentioning the name several times over family dinners.

"Yeah that's it! Lestrade I think."

Sherlock couldn't remember what had happened. Clearly whatever it was had been bad enough to make Mycroft so against couples that he lashed out at Sherlock.

"It's a shame," John muttered, "I think Greg was really into him too."

Sherlock thought for a moment. Then, uncharacteristically, decided to do something to help his brother.

"Maybe we could help them."

"Help who do what?" John asked absently. He was perusing the morning paper. Sherlock stole it away from him to get his attention.

"Maybe we could help my brother get Greg back."

John's eyebrows rose and he smirked.

"Holmes and Watson... matchmakers?" he asked. Goofball.

"I just think... he should learn that he was wrong. Caring is not a disadvantage." Sherlock grabbed John's hand and kissed it. John bit his lip and smiled.

"This could be fun," John mused. "Isn't your brother graduated though? I think Greg's in my year."

"Yeah he is... we'll have to be creative," Sherlock said. Already the wheels were turning in his head.

John looked fondly at his boyfriend. He was so happy that they had fixed everything last night. He was sure they'd hit some rough patches, but they'd get through it. Last night was a testament to that. And now they had a sort of covert mission. John thought it might be a lot of fun, scheming with Sherlock. Anything with Sherlock, really, would be fun.

They boys finished their breakfast before clearing off the table for some serious scheming.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys start to put their plan in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even tho I'm American when I say football I mean soccer just to make that clear to my fellow Americans! Also my laptop died so I'm posting this from my tablet. Sorry if the spacing or format is weird. Also thanks for all the love and comments :)

The two boys couldn't keep the smiles off of their faces. Even though Mycroft and his love life had never been a concern of Sherlock's before, he was rather excited to be working with John on something.   
"So I think this is going to be split into two parts basically," John said. "We have to get Greg here, but first we have to figure out what went wrong with them in the first place so we can fix it."  
Sherlock's brow furrowed.   
"I don't think Mycroft will talk to me about what happened."   
"Then ask your mum," John offered. "She's more perceptive than you might think."  
Sherlock thought back to the beginning when John had come their house and mentioned his father. He thought about the knowing look his mother had given John. He was right.   
"I'll give it a go," Sherlock said.   
John smiled at him.   
"Alright and I'll speak to Greg. I know he's on the football team so I'll go by his practice. I'll just invite him over here on some pretense and then we can figure out how to reunite them once you find out what happened." There was a sparkle in John's eyes that Sherlock loved.   
"This is fun," Sherlock admitted, smiling shyly.  
"Never thought I'd play matchmaker, but it is kind of fun isn't it?" He smiled. "I guess it's nice to help other people find what we have," he added.   
Sherlock hadn't thought of it like that. Considering John was the best thing in his life, he would be giving Mycroft the best gift a brother could give if he could get him back together with Greg.   
Sherlock kissed his boyfriend. There was something different between them since that night. There was a sort of bond now that was even stronger than before. The permanance of it felt as if it had its own weight. Sherlock felt comforted by this weight, as if it were a warm blanket.   
John checked his watch.   
"I think their practice starts today at twelve," John said. "I'll go home, get some stuff and then go to the practice. It should be a few hours so that'll give you time to talk to your mum and figure out what happened. Want to plan on having Greg over this evening?"  
"Yes. I think that will work."  
John grinned.   
"Great!"  
John left shortly after. Sherlock searched the house for his mother. He found her in her bedroom, reading. She peaked up from behind the book with a knowing look.  
"Late night last night?" She asked.  
"Late, but productive," was all Sherlock was willing to share.   
He climbed onto the bed next to his mother and curled up next to her.   
"Well this is a treat," she said, smiling. She let one of her hands run through her son's unruly curls. "What's the occasion?"  
Sherlock hesitated, unsure as to how to proceed. Would she even know anything? He decided rather than waste time he should just be straightforward.   
"Has Mycroft ever had a signficiant other?" He asked.   
Mrs. Holmes thought for a moment.   
"You know he doesn't share that kind of thing with me," she started. "But I believe he was with someone a while ago, yes. I remember him being a little happier and going out more."  
Sherlock grew hopeful. Mycroft had indeed been happy with Greg at one point. That was a good start.   
"But then after your grandfather died, he stopped going out and stopped smiling so much."  
Sherlock remembered that well. It was not an unexpected death. Their grandfather had had cancer for some time. To Sherlock his death was sad, but a natural progression of chemical reactions. It took Sherlock only a few seconds to deduce what had ruined Mycroft's relationship. Caring had not been an advantage then to him so why should it be with Greg?  
Sherlock detangled himself from his mother's hand and sat up.   
"How are things with John?" She asked suddenly.   
Sherlock couldn't help but smile.   
"Really good."   
His mother looked absolutely thrilled to hear this. Sherlock realized he shouldn't waste any more time.   
"Thank you," he said, much to her surprise. He got off the bed and went back to his room to text John.   
On the field, John looked at his phone and frowned. He was sort of hoping the problem hadn't been so deep. Changing Mycroft's feelings about relationships in general would be more difficult. He thought about how he had almost lost Sherlock because of the same ideology and shivered. The thought of losing Sherlock was terrifying. He kept thinking about the that night. If he hadn't heard Sherlock sniffle, would he have just left? No. He would have stayed or at least come back once he realized how ridiculous Sherlock was being. He knew deep within himself that he and Sherlock belonged together. Even if they were both idiots about it sometimes.   
He pushed those thoughts away for now and focused on his part of the mission.   
Greg's practice was almost over and John waited patiently on the edge of the field. He knew Greg from one class or another but had never really spoken to him. Luckily he had devised a plan to get him over to Sherlock's house without raising too much suspicion. If Greg knew what they were planning, he wasn't sure he would go along with it.   
John waved to Greg when he saw him leaving there field. He was a good looking bloke, John thought. He was starting to grey but it looked good on him.   
"What's up, mate?" Greg asked in response to John's wave.   
"Hi, Greg," John smiled. This had to be convincing. "I was actually wondering if I could ask you a small favor?"  
Greg looked at him questioningly while he put his stuff into his bag.   
"What's that?"  
"Well, you know my boyfriend, Sherlock?" He asked.   
"Sure, who doesn't know?" Greg smiled. John blushed a little.   
"Well, he has been looking to get into sports recently but rugby is a bit too much for him. I was wondering if maybe you might be able to help him get into football? If it's not too much to ask. Just the basics anyway," John tried to sound nonchalant.   
Greg assessed him for a bit before responding. He finally nodded.   
"Yeah why not?" He laughed. "If anything it might prove to be hilarious." John couldn't help but agree that Sherlock doing anything football related would be hilarious. Although, his agility as a dancer might have helped.   
"Great, would tonight work for you?" John asked.   
Greg said that it would and John invited him to Sherlock's house around 7. He could tell that Greg was hesitant to come to Sherlock's but didn't want to have to expalin why to John.   
After they had parted, John texted Sherlock to update him.   
John decided to go home and see Harry and his grandparents before returning to Sherlock's for the evening, giving Sherlock enough time to talk to his brother and try to change his mind about opening up. John could only imagine how that would go.


End file.
